


Sweetest Taboo

by Lusciousinpain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Both are freaking smart, Bottom Castiel, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Mutual Pining, PWP, Popular Castiel, Possessive Dean, Self Confidence Issues, Student Castiel, Teacher Dean Winchester, Top Dean, Underage Castiel, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lusciousinpain/pseuds/Lusciousinpain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“God.” He sighs tiredly, rubbing at his eyes with both hands, wishing he could go a whole day without masturbating to the image of large blue eyes gazing longingly at him and pink full lips desperate for his kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sexy and Seventeen

**Author's Note:**

> So this was totally going to be 100% porn. But then Dean got jealous, and Cas got pissy, and I realized they both just really needed to work things out before falling into each other's arms. This was also meant to be a 4000 word fic. But it's turned into a multi-chaptered monster. And hey, this is Dean after all, and we all know that he needs to feed the monster.  
> I'll be posting weekly, fingers crossed  
> So eat up and enjoy, my lovelies!

“Novak.” Dean shouts, voice loud and clear in the nearly full classroom.

“…”

“Mr. Novak?” he tries again when there’s no immediate reply.

“...?...”

“Castiel Novak!” he says for a third time, unable to keep the irritation from his tone when all he gets this time is a smattering of muffled giggles from his students. “Fuck my life.” He mutters under his breath, then asks, “Does anyone here know where Mr. Novak is?”

He looks around the room and tries to make eye contact with any student brave enough to glance his way. “Well?”

A small cough from across the room gets his attention. “Alfie?”

“Ooop…” Alfie squeaks. “There.” He answers, voice barely above a whisper, nervously pointing to the closed window across from his seat.

Dean squints and looks out the window, but all he can make out from where he’s standing is that it’s two teens making-out against a brick wall.

He edges closer, not too surprised when he sees that one of them is the unmistakable figure of _the_ Castiel Novak. Although it’s difficult to be certain since the teenager's body is almost completely obscured by the slightly larger frame of the other teenager, who, from what Dean can tell, seems to be trying his damnedest to swallow his student’s face.

Dean moves closer still, but the nearer he gets the higher his dread mounts. Now, from this new vantage point, he can clearly make out that the other male, _molesting his student_ , is not a teenager at all, but a…man.

_A blonde man. Forcing himself on Castiel. Pawing at the teen. Pressing his smarmy face against the boy’s neck._

Dean growls and his vision clouds over; everything’s red.

“Thanks, Alfie.” He grits out, jaw clenched so tightly it wouldn’t surprise him at all if his teeth cracked from the pressure.

He covers the last few feet to the window in three quick strides and stares. “Fucking great.” he curses, hands braced on the sill and sighs, beyond fed-up and done with this particular senior’s out of control antics.

But why is he so fucking pissed? Why is the sight of Castiel with another person enough to render Dean into a complete Neanderthal? An unthinking boor so regressed he’s all base instinct and action, with only one thing on his mind, to gladly take what is clearly meant to be his.

To say Dean finds these feelings disturbing, is an understatement. But he finds the dangerous curl of jealousy that's twining itself tighter and tighter around his gut over Castiel's love life, even more distressing.

It really doesn't surprise Dean that seeing the teenager with another person, especially in such a compromising position, would drive him to the point of lunacy. No, what does surprise him, gets under his skin, disturbs and frustrates the ever-lovin-shit out of him, are his goddamn stupid reactions to the teen's taunts and what an easy target he makes.

**It all started, six months ago.**

When Dean first laid eyes on the seventeen year old, his jaw dropped, literally struck dumb when the school’s Principal introduced them. That pivotal event, would forever alter his life.

That afternoon, like all previous first days of class, Dean was leaning against his desk and taking attendance, gearing up to give a perfunctory explanation on his course to this year's crop of new students, when absolutely everything went to hell.

“Excuse me, Mr. Winchester.” Principal Moseley hollered from the room’s entrance. “I have a new student for you.” she announced cheerily, an unmistakable note of _awe_ stressing her announcement.

He looked curiously her way, greeting for his new student on the tip of his tongue, when in walked a tall, lean boy, and the words died in his throat; the teenager was beautiful, his gait graceful, all casual confidence and self-assured swagger. Dean was instantly captivated.

“This bright young man, here, is Mr. Castiel Novak.” She informed the entire class. She stepped further into the classroom and waved for Castiel to join her. "I must say, Castiel, we here at Carver Edlund High, are deeply honored that you have chosen to spend your senior year with us." she gushed, beaming widely and bright eyed, chest puffing up visibly with obvious pride for having enrolled a verifiable boy-genius.

"Mr. Winchester," She went on, turning her attention back to her star teacher, voice pitching a little higher with her building excitement. "I'm leaving Castiel in your very capable hands, and I'm trusting that under your expert tutelage, he’ll blossom into yet another one of this institution’s highest achievers. So please make sure you take very special care of him for us. Understood?" She asked, but with the addition of an arched brow and the thin stern line of her naturally full lips, her instructions sounded more like a series of dire warnings to Dean, rather than a polite request.

Dean scoffed, not outright, of course, at the ridiculousness of her zeal. But in all honesty, he was more than a little offended by the insinuation that if he didn’t take ‘special care’ of  _this_ particular senior, then Castiel’s failure would be Dean’s fault, and not the boy’s.

_How was that even right? Or even fair?_

It’s not like Dean hadn’t already spent the better part of the past ten years doing just that; churning out hundreds of stellar students and first-rate engineer candidates, year after year, without fail, for this goddamn school! 

But, whatever.

The way Dean saw it, Principal Moseley was well within her rights to be cautious over the welfare of her new student, as well as justified in her exacting expectations from her staff. 

Besides, he figured, it’s not like it was going to be that much of a hardship to spend a little extra time with the boy. To work closely with him after hours, to be at his beck and call, to insure that he would always be available for the teenager – on school related matters, of course. Because even though Dean immefiately liked the idea of spending as much private time as he could sanely manage with Castiel, the boy’s drop-dead-good-looks would have no bearing, _whatsoever_ , on how Dean would conduct himself.

Na-ah and no sir-ee, in spite of the teen’s attractiveness, Dean was definitely going to behave. Well, that was the plan, at first. Dean was going to be professional, mature and respectful, a complete fucking gentleman, especially when alone with the boy.

Meanwhile, in the background, Principal Moseley continued with her spiel, rattling off more orders, throwing in a few more words of praise, both in regards to Castiel as well as Dean, all the while resting her hand protectively on the teenager’s shoulder.

But Castiel didn't feel the warm weight of her touch, didn't hear what she had said or even register the meaning behind her words. He only had eyes for the handsome and brilliant man standing tall and imposing at the front of the room. Castiel sent a smile Dean’s way, it was small and hesitant, shy actually, but it grew in size and confidence the second he realized his teacher was staring right back at him, and his gaze was just as intense.

Dean’s shapely green eyes were scanning every inch of Castiel’s face, seemingly as fascinated by the boy before him as Castiel was over his new teacher.

A loud, pointed “A-hem” from Principal Moseley, finally caught Castiel’s attention. When he turned to the frowning woman, he offered her an apologetic smile. He then scanned the rest of the classroom, pausing a moment to send a nod of acknowledgment to his fellow classmates, and then with a gentle nudge from the Principal, made his way towards Dean, stopping only when he was standing well within Dean’s personal space.

“A pleasure, Mr. Winchester.” Castiel had purred, reaching out to take Dean’s hand in his and shaking it with an impressively firm grip.

“It’s Dean.” Dean replied automatically, then flinched, Castiel’s unexpected ‘nearness’ and his intoxicating scent, coupled with the off-the-charts-sexual charge that shot like a lightning bolt right through Dean’s system the second their hands connected, left the teacher flailing and well…stupid.

Luckily, Dean uttered his response on a hushed breath, and the verbal slip went unnoticed by Principal Moseley and the rest of the class. Unfortunately, Castiel did catch his words, and the full meaning behind their intent.

“I just wanted to tell you that it’s an honor to be _your_ student.” The teenager went on to add. “And that the main reason I chose your school, is well…because of you.” he confessed easily, casually, like admitting that purposefully seeking out the older man was nothing to be embarrassed by. On the contrary, in Castiel's opinion, Dean’s celebrity status in the highly competitive world of engineering, was something the young teacher should have already been accustomed to.

They stared at each other a moment longer, Castiel still slowly pumping Dean’s hand in his warm possessive grip, lips curling with the subtlest of smiles, a flirtatious wink setting his dumbfounded teacher’s heart all aflutter.

And since that day, since that very moment in time, Dean and Castiel’s relationship has been wrought with sexual tension. The strain has left both men teetering on the edge of something that has the potential to be either life altering wonderful, or, because of the danger inherent to both of their futures, especially Dean’s, incredibly disastrous.

That, in itself, should have been enough to deter Dean from pursuing the boy. But Castiel’s insistence that the older man take what he eagerly offered, did little to help Dean in his daily struggle against his increasingly lustful urges for the teen.

**And now, this.**

Dean should be numb and well accustomed to Castiel flaunting his promiscuity in his face. But the pain that stabs at his heart and prickles at his skin feels as fresh today as it did the first time he witnessed the teenager engaging with another partner.

“Goddamnit!” Dean grumbles darkly, keeping his voice down so that no one nearby hears. And without pausing to consider if this is the best course of action to take or not, opens the window, leans out and shouts, “Yo, Novak, mind getting your ass in here?”

The thundering boom of his voice startles the blonde man off Castiel, but he doesn’t get very far. “Get back here.” Castiel pouts, saying the words loud enough so that they carry clearly across the yard and right into Dean’s straining ears. “Not done with you yet.”

 _The fuck you are!_ Dean almost roars, reaching up and slamming the window back down, the impact so great the glass rattles in its frame.

“Open your texts to last night’s assignment and have your answers ready by the time I return.” He instructs his stunned students and weaving his way through the haphazardly arranged desks, storms out of the room.

Three minutes later, he’s standing in front of Castiel, eyes darting all around trying to locate the soon to be dead blonde that had the audacity to lay his hands on the senior. “Where…” he pants, out of breath from running around the building in order to get to Castiel, more than a little eager to confront his student and pummel his blonde boyfriend into the ground. “Where did he go?” he finally manages.

“Hello Dean.” Castiel says instead, ignoring Dean’s question, leaning with his shoulders pressed flat against the brick wall and his narrow hips jutting out. “Nobody here but little-ole-me.” he says, voice vibrating from deep within his throat, low and seductive. “You need something?” he asks, moistening his plush bottom lip with a wet swipe of his tongue, leaving it spit-shiny and too fucking tempting for words.

Dean ignores the teen’s use of his first name, _for now_ , and stares. He cannot _not_ stare. It would be physically impossible for him to tear his eyes away from the exquisite teen; Castiel, with his large blue eyes, dark tousled hair, and full pink lips, is quite simply, Dean’s definition of walking sex. And if he’s not careful his ruination, as well.

“Just…just get back inside.” He stammers, poking his own tongue out to mimic Castiel’s erotic-as-fuck gesture and steps closer, pupils dilating with arousal for the boy in front of him. “Please.” He pleads, voice soft, but expression grim, fists clenched into tight balls by his sides, no longer certain if confronting the teen had been the wisest course of action, after all.

He takes a step back and shakes his head, trying to clear it, but when he tries to turn and flee, he finds that he can’t. “What the…” he asks dumbly watching as the teenager wraps nimble fingers firmly around his belt loops and uses them to tug him closer. “Let me go, or-” Dean orders, tone cold, but his voice wavers; he feels himself hardening under the teen’s heated gaze and knows that he needs to get away from Castiel now, or risk bending the boy over and fucking him on the spot, regardless of the consequences.

“Or…?” Castiel counters, eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint, responding to Dean’s command with a provocative quirk of his brow. He doesn’t let go of Dean, of course, does the complete opposite, instead. He moves in closer –slim hips still leading the way - and makes sure to press his own impressive hard on against his teacher’s thigh. Then, sucking sensuously on _that damn_ bottom lip, dares Dean to make a scene in front of his entire class.

Dean turns his gaze towards his classroom’s windows, not at all surprised when he sees all of his kids watching their heated altercation with the kind of rapt attention he’s only ever witnessed between a bloodthirsty predator and its hobbled prey. And considering with whom he’s dealing, Dean’s got a pretty good idea which of the unfortunate two he would be in that particular scenario.

He turns back to the devil in front of him, nostrils flaring to take in a deep calming breath, and then exhales. _Get a grip, Winchester._

“Look, Novak,” he sneers. “I’ve had about as much of your shit as I can take for one day. So you either get your ass back into my classroom, right the fuck now,” Dean threatens, unwittingly leaning into the teen. “Or you can leave and join your little boyfriend. But if you do that,” he hisses, tipping his head lower, exhaling warm puffs of air against Castiel's cheek. "Never come back." He bluffs, looming menacingly over the wide-eyed boy.

“Mr. Winchester!” Principal Moseley shouts. “Mind telling me what the hell’s going on here?” she demands, walking briskly across the campus until she’s standing between Dean and Castiel.

Dean glares at Castiel, telling him with his eyes to keep quiet and let him do all the talking. “Missouri, I mean Principal Moseley. I was just coming out here to, um, see what was keeping Mr. Novak.” He offers weakly.

Missouri harrumphs and taps her foot, thoroughly unconvinced by Dean’s lame-ass explanation. “You don’t say?” she says lightly then turns her intimidating glower on the teenager “And why are you out here and not in class, Mr. Novak?”

Castiel opens his mouth to reply but Dean cuts him off again. “He was out here with his...uncle. Isn’t that right, Cas?” Dean blurts out. “He forgot his, ah, homework and his uncle was dropping it off. I just came out here to introduce myself.”

 _Cas?_ Missouri frowns at the familiarity, but ignores the shrill clanging of alarm bells that immediately go off in her head. “Is that so?” she replies sarcastically and eyes them skeptically. “Hm, well, fine then.” she relents, tired of the entire exchange, and if she’s being honest, a little unsettled by the unusual chemistry radiating off the pair. She checks her watch and turns her keen focus back on Castiel.

“According to my watch it seems that you have missed today’s class. Therefore, you will make up today’s lesson after school, Mr. Novak. And Mr. Winchester,” she says, turning back to Dean. “I want you to ensure that _Cas_ here, stays until he’s learned today’s lessons, backwards and forwards.”

“What? Mis-, I mean Principal Moseley, that won’t be necessary. Today’s lesson was mostly passages the class had to read from their textbook, so I’ll just give Castiel the chapters to study and call it a day, okay.” Dean rambles, words tripping over each other in an effort to get out of having to spend any more time alone with the irresistible teen.

“Dean,” Missouri gasps, clutching at her chest with righteous indignation, completely dismayed to find that her best teacher could be so blasé towards the education of their school’s brightest student; even if Castiel also happens to be one of its most unruly.

And, gauging from Dean’s reaction to her instructions (his lack of concern over the teenager's welfare, his indifference to Castiel’s education, and his dismissive attitude towards the teen’s behavior) Castiel’s habitual truancy, let alone any implied delinquency, is the result of not being sufficiently challenged or cared for by her staff.

“You will stay late tonight with Castiel, your student.” She insists. “I believe you owe this young man a full lesson, Mr. Winchester. And,” she plows on, holding her hand up to halt Dean’s counter argument. “I want Castiel, and the rest of the student body to realize that even if they’re late, or miss a lesson entirely, they’re still required to put in a full day’s work. I will not tolerate anything less. Do I make myself clear?”

Now in full panic mode, Dean scrambles, wracking his brain to find a way out of the shit-storm he’s sure to face if he has to follow through with Missouri’s order. “Ah, sorry but tonight’s not good, I um, have this thing with my brother and I’ve been putting it off. You know how it is, right?” he babbles, but then with a spark of inspiration, adds, “And besides, I’m sure Mr. Novak here has a date or something planned for tonight, too. Right, Cas?” he says, hoping this last ditch effort to get out of their punishment saves him from the inevitable doom that will surely befall him if he has to spend even a minute alone with the teen.

Up until now, Dean has managed to never be completely alone with the boy – and let’s face it, Dean Winchester may be one stubborn sonofabitch, but Castiel’s appeal is something even he’s not sure he could resist, if the seventeen year old were to unleash his full powers of persuasion on him, in private.

“Actually, Mr. Winchester, I’m totally free tonight. Which means, I’m all yours…if you'll have me." Castiel chimes in helpfully, to Dean’s great dismay, batting his eyes so innocently and grinning so smugly, Dean can’t believe Missouri doesn’t call him out on it.

“Well, ah…” Dean flounders, fish-mouthing, still desperate for an out from this dangerous turn of events.

“Reschedule with Sam, Dean, I’m sure your brother will understand.” Missouri advices, her tone so final, Dean doesn’t even bother to argue.

Missouri stands between the pair a moment longer, brows knitting together while she studies them. “Trust me, gentlemen, this is for the best.” And even though she’s far from satisfied with the outcome, graces them with a tight smile and walks away.

…

Dean's never understood the meaning behind the term ‘rue the day’.

Until now.

Because now, after knowing and interacting with the teen for almost half a year, he can totally get behind the sentiment.

 _Has it really been almost six months?_ He wonders, scratching absently at the day old stubble on his chin with the blunt end of his pen.

“Hmpht.” He snorts, frowning when it dawns on him that he’s only known Castiel for a measly six months. And if that’s the case, then six months ago was the last time Dean knew peace. The last time he had a restful night’s sleep. It’s like an epiphany, the sudden realization that before Castiel Novak came into his life, a full and happy, although dull life, he was a carefree thirty-four year old bachelor unfretted or bogged down with life’s usual problems.

 _Carefree? Really? What the hell was that even like?_ He tries to recall, unable to recollect a time when his stomach wasn’t tied up in knots or his thoughts thick and muddled, completely saturated and full to the brim with images of the truly delectable seventeen year old.

Yeah, Dean was 'content’ before Castiel came into his life. Okay, maybe his life wasn’t chuck-full-of-excitement, and maybe it lacked painfully in the fulfillment department, but at least he had peace. _So he keeps telling himself._

“God.” He sighs tiredly, rubbing at his eyes with both hands, wishing he could go a whole day without masturbating to the image of large blue eyes gazing longingly at him and pink full lips desperate for his kisses. _It's all a lie, anyway! Not like the kid feels anything real for me._ He stubbornly argues.

“What the hell am I even thinking?” he grumbles to himself, because even though he believes Castiel’s attraction for him to be insincere, if not downright misguided, he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he has to find a way to stifle his own perverse obsession for the boy.

But it’s difficult as fuck, especially when all of his thoughts revolve around the many varied and sinful ways he would like to thoroughly mark the boy’s body with his mouth and teeth and hands. From the teen’s tempting-as-hell hips, to the long graceful column of his neck, Dean needs to find a way to end the obscene images that persist on playing in an endless loop through his feverish mind. Stat!

 _But if only it were that easy,_ he considers briefly, then helpless to stop himself, drops his hand under his desk and palms his rapidly swelling cock.

“Fuck…” he groans in the quiet room, pressing firmly on the growing tent in his slacks. Right now is really, _really,_ not the time. No sir, the last thing Dean wants is to give Castiel the satisfaction of seeing him with a full on erection.

But who’s he kidding, once his mind starts replaying images of hot and sexy, _distracting-as-hell-Cas-tee-el,_ it’s pretty much game over for Dean, but game on for his traitorous dick.

He reclines in his seat and leans back far enough so that he can spread his legs and give his hand more room to play. “Umphhh…” he moans when his fingers brush along the bulging outline of his shaft. “Mmmpht…” he groans softly from the full-blown shivers that ratchet up his spine. “Fuck…” he mutters sadly, unable to stop the heavy sigh of resignation that accompanies each gasp, each blissed out exhale. And even though Dean’s lack of self-control weighs heavily on him, he nevertheless takes a few minutes to indulge in his fantasies. 

He closes his eyes and his fantasy unfurls, licking his bottom lip while he envisions the dip in the teen’s lower back and the way it highlights the narrowness of his waist, the pronounced sweet swell of his ass. His focus shifts to the boy’s appearance, on how dangerously low the teen wears his too tight jeans, and the way his hair curls around the lobe of his ear when it gets too long, mocking Dean, tempting him to reach out and pull at the unruly locks. “Casss…” he gasps, lengthening the boy’s name on a heated exhale.

And when the tightness in his pants becomes too uncomfortable, Dean slowly tugs his zipper open. But it’s still not enough. Now that he’s given himself permission to chase this one tiny pleasure, he decides to take it one step further; he dips his hand inside the waistband of his brief’s, pulls out his dick, and wrapping his fingers snugly around the thickening length, fists himself to full hardness.

His head falls back and he groans, “Fucking,..fuck-” he swears, hissing when he exposes the heated flesh to the room’s cool air. “Cas-“ he sighs longingly, but this time the scene in his head is lewd, pornographic, a scenario where fantasy-Castiel crouches snugly between Dean’s spread thighs – the teen's perfect full lips pursed and puckered around Dean’s dick and looking hotter and better than any fantasy has a right too. “Baby…yeah, just…just like that.” Dean gasps, spurring on his fantasy-boy, gathering a pearly bead of pre-cum with an upward flick of his wrist and a careful swipe of his thumb, using it to slick himself further and work his hand a little bit faster, losing himself utterly to his lust as his daydream plays out.

Fantasy-Dean places both hands on either side of fantasy-Castiel’s jaw and gently pries his dick from the teen’s lips. He then slowly rises to his feet – dick, rock hard and swaying along with his easy movements – and helps the teenager to his feet as well. “Come here, baby,” he tells his fantasy-boy. “I’m not done with you yet...” Dean says, repeating Castiel’s earlier command to his then fleeing lover.

Dean grabs Castiel by the scruff of his neck and guides him towards his desk, nudging the teenager by the shoulder until he’s laying flat on his back. Fantasy-Dean bends over the teen and kisses him, small nips and bites that quickly turn into an aggressive display of dominance. There’s no finesse or grace to Dean's actions anymore, only an urgent need for satisfaction. He sucks on the teen’s plush upper lip then bites down, hard, on the pouty bottom one, works his tongue into the boy's mouth and licks at its entirety, mapping every nook, memorizing every cranny, plundering, owing, claiming, while his large hands run with a greedy desperation over the boy’s supine form.

Dean briefly pauses in his ravaging, slowly drags his hands down the boy’s hips, unzips his jeans, then forcibly yanks them, along with the teen’s underwear, down and off. He leans back, but only far enough to take in the sight of what he imagines will be a very impressive cock, if the large bulge the boy usually sports whenever he's around Dean, is any indication.

Fantasy-Dean then licks his lips, _‘cause yeah, the boy’s cock is just as pretty as he’d imagined._ It’s fucking glorious, in fact, flush and thick and just long enough, with a gorgeous plumb head and delicately veined, from root to crown.

His mouth waters and his eyes flutter, picturing himself buried, nose deep, where groin meets thigh, swooning when he inhales the sweet scent there, whimpering as he nuzzles against the exquisite warmth and softness of that area’s delicate skin. The heady image leaves Dean dizzy with desire. He hums in delight around the teen’s imaginary length, hot and heavy in his mouth, eyes rolling to the back of his head when the boy’s sweet-salty pre-cum hits his tongue.

As his strokes quicken, Dean’s legs fall completely open. The distinct sound of skin slapping wetly against skin is almost deafening to his ears, the quick whir of his hand loud and obvious as his slicked dick flies easily through the snug tunnel of his fist. The sight he makes, obscene and downright drity, leaves him wishing, with something very close to insanity, that Castiel would walk in and ask to join him.

“Ahhh…” he moans with that particular image in mind, gasping for air, lip caught between his teeth to bite back a sob. _Just a little bit_ _more,_ he thinks. _I’m almost there,_ he pleads, straining from the building pressure.

His thoughts spiral out of control, run wild, heart rate speeding into overdrive as fantasy-Dean devours fantasy-Castiel. As he digs his fingers cruelly into boy’s ass cheeks, and spreads them apart. As his fingers, nervous and frantic with urgency, dip into Castiel’s crevice and slide towards his hole, prod at the magically spit-sloppy rim, swipe indelicately over the tight seal, press against it, almost breaching it, Castiel’s hole fucking soaked and begging to be penetrated...

The shrill blare of Sam’s boner-killing ringtone snaps Dean out of his current state of madness.

He slams his seat back down and grunts in frustration, reaches into his trouser’s front pocket – careful to avoid the long angry length of his dick – and pulls out his phone. “Yeah?” he snaps as he vainly tries to tuck himself back into his pants.

“And hello to you too, Dean.” Sam chuckles.

“Yeah, okay, hi. Wadda want?” Dean asks, tone gruff and terse, pissed the fuck off with his brother’s unbelievable timing. Although, now that he’s had a moment to cool off, realizes he should be grateful for the interruption. “Hey, sorry for baling out on you. Again.” he apologizes, tone less harsh, dick finally soft enough to tuck in and zip up.

“Missouri wouldn’t let me off.” he goes on to explain. “Says I gotta make sure all of my students, especially her precious little protégé, get a thorough education. Whatever the hell that means.” And call him crazy, but Dean swears he can practically hear Sam’s eyes roll from the other side of the line. “Dude, don’t roll your eyes at me. I may be shorter than you, but I can still-"

Sam cuts him off with a snort of his own, and laughs. “Dean, look, it’s no big deal. Just checking to see if you want to meet up this weekend, instead."

“Yeah, sounds good.” Dean agrees. _It’s not like I have anything or anybody else to do this weekend,_ _anyway._ He reflects bitterly.

They talk for another minute, making tentative plans for their get together, when out of the blue Sam remarks, “Oh by the way, this student you ditched me for tonight, he wouldn’t happen to be Castiel Novak, would he?”

“How, who said, wait…did Missouri call you?”

“What, no, just curious. Because if it is him, then expect him to be a little late, okay. He just left the office.”

Dean’s head spins from Sam's information. _How the fuck does my brother even know the kid?_   “How the fuck do you even know the kid?”

“Whoa, tone down the hostility, bro.” Sam tells him. “For your information, Castiel is interning in my office. His dad, Chuck, is our new litigator.”

“Oh…’kay. Um, thanks for the heads up.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome. Anyway, he should be there any minute. Oh, here's a little something you’ll appreciate, the guy that picked him up has a really nice vintage corvette. You should totally check her out, real beauty. Looks mint, the owner definitely takes good care of her. Bet…” Sam rambles on, completely unaware that his innocent enough comment hits Dean like a sucker punch, right to his fucking balls.

Sam drones on and on, but Dean’s not aware of anything else his brother says after the bombshell he dropped about Castiel being picked up by a ‘guy’. “Hey, ah, Sammy gotta go now, okay, gotta get my lesson ready, for, ah, the kid...Castiel.” He lies, grinding his teeth because he knows, can bet a year’s salary, that the ‘guy’ in question is the same blonde dick from this morning.

“Sure. Oh and Dean,” Sam says, finally pausing in his idolization of Castiel’s boyfriend’s car to add, “Look, I can tell something’s bugging you, so-”

“So?” Dean snaps back, cutting him off, and if he wasn’t in a shitty mood before, he sure-as-shit is now.

Sam sighs, long and weary, all too accustomed to his older brother’s reluctance to discuss his feelings or sudden mood swings, but regardless, he presses on. “Fine, just…just try not to take it out on him, okay. He’s a good kid, hard working and really sweet. So, don’t be too rough. I know how overzealous you tend to get when it comes to drilling lessons into your students, especially if you’re in one of your pissy moods.”

Dean immediately has a dozen snarky one liners on how drilling Castiel –in the sexy way— is exactly what he intends to do to his insatiable student, but instead answers with, “No worries there, Sam. Trust me, I’m gonna make real sure that Castiel learns his lesson tonight.” he pauses for a beat then adds, “In fact, it’ll be my pleasure.”


	2. I Want You To Want Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s incredibly dangerous and extremely stupid, but Dean can’t be bothered to care. No, right now, all he cares about, all he wants, is to close the last few inches separating their mouths and finally press his lips against Castiel’s, to kiss and taste the boy, to suck on his watermelon candy-coated tongue, and only separate when the bothersome need for oxygen becomes necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to post Tuesdays and Fridays  
> Thanks for reading and I hope you all enjoy!  
> Chapter title taken from the classic Cheap Trick anthem. I felt it fitting for our boys.

“The fuck is he?” Dean wonders, glancing up at the room’s clock for the umpteenth time. “Probably blowing his fucking boyfriend in his fancy fucking car.” he curses, then grumbling about the injustice of it all, leans back in his chair and angrily flips through the large stack of essays on his desk.

Great, now that he’s opened his mind back up to thoughts of Castiel and his overt sexuality, Dean can’t help but think back on the many instances, too many really, when he was the teen’s prey. How Castiel would corner him, walk right up and stand close, _too close_ , so close Dean could easily count the individual lashes lining the teen’s too blue eyes.

“Damn…” he huffs in frustration, recalling the teenager’s enticing scent and the way it wraps around him whenever the boy hovers nearby. ”And why does he have to smell so fucking good?" he gripes. Then, with nothing better to do (Castiel still hasn't shown up, and doing this will at least kill some time until he finally does) Dean uses his keen mathematical mind and calculates the various components that make up the boy's exotic blend. This is his conclusion:

1\. Watermelon candy the teen enthusiastically _sucks_ whenever in Dean’s presence.

2\. A hint of fresh cut grass that clings to his skin from his early morning jogs.

3\. And a delicious _something else_ that’s exclusive to Castiel, setting him apart from all others.

"Yummy..." Dean hums over the delectable cocktail.

But then his thoughts turn to Castiel’s outrageous flirting, the numerous instances of unprovoked sexual advances and romantic overtures, shocking behavior Dean vehemently insists is unwarranted and definitely unwanted by him – _cough, cough, bullshit!_ – instances which convince him that what the teenager must really be after, is his complete and utter destruction.

_There's just no other explanation._

But why? Why this vendetta against him? Is it for sport? To pass the time? Is he doing it on a dare? It’s not like he’s lonely. So try as he might, Dean can’t come up with a plausible reason as to why Castiel would be out to get him. Unless it’s because the teen actually has feelings for him and he really does want…

_N’ah!_

Dean immediately dismisses that ridiculous, and very dangerous, train of thought. Because seriously, why would a gorgeous, smart, sexy-as-fuck seventeen year old want with an old bachelor that’s never even been out of the goddamn country, for fuckssake?!

_It just makes no sense,_ Dean concludes, confident that his reasoning is perfectly logical. And it is...sort of, if you squint really hard, and examine it through a dirt blackened window, sideways, in a typhoon. And just as he's about to spiral into an endless pool of self loathing and doubt, the door flies open.

“Fuck, s-sorry…” Castiel pants, short of breath. He rushes into the empty classroom and loses his footing, skidding to a dramatic stop beside Dean’s desk. ”Got…whew…” he gasps, bending over and hanging his head low between his legs, trying to catch his breath. “Got…had to um, get out of my previous engagement.”

“Previous engagement?” Dean repeats, brow cocked loftily, eyes skimming judgmentally over the entirety of the boy’s body. “With whom, may I ask?” he asks, but the cool detachment he’s trying to project sounds contrived, even to his own ears.“Not with that blonde um…let me see, how can I put this without offending you?” he mutters, steepling his fingers under his chin while pondering this particularly troublesome conundrum. “Yesss,” he declares, snapping his fingers. “Blonde douche.”

“Blonde?” Castiel asks, graciously ignoring the ‘douche’ part and cocks his head in confusion, eyes widening when he realizes to whom Dean is referring. “You mean, Balthazar? The man from earlier?” he guesses correctly, nose scrunching up, baffled by his teacher’s poorly veiled aggression.

And fuckitall if the little prick doesn’t look all kinds of adorable making that face. But Dean’s far too incensed now to backtrack and fawn over his student’s obvious physical attributes. He’s a man on a mission, and right now he wants answers.

“Seriously, that dick’s name is Balthazar? What, he couldn’t bare to let you out of his sight for one friggin night?” _I know I couldn’t,_ he wisely keeps to himself. “Tell me Mr. Novak,” he sneers, tone condescending, words acerbic. “Is the reason you’re so late, also the same reason I've had to wait all goddamn night, because that man insisted on taking the scenic route?”

Castiel bristles, Dean’s tone irritates him and his antagonistic attitude puts the teen on the defensive. The confused furrow on his brow smooths out and he replaces it with a stoic, unreadable expression. “Yes, and no.” he answers, voice tight, matching the building tension between them.”Balthazar, is the ‘blonde-douche’s’ name.” he air quotes. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he adds icily, his already deep voice dropping lower the more his aggravation grows. “But a., he wasn’t my ‘previous engagement’. And b., he wasn’t the one that dropped me off just now.” he supplies, but then in an angrier voice growls, “But since you seem to think it’s alright to badger me incessantly over things which are clearly none of your concern, then-“

Dean shoots to his feet so quickly, the abrupt movement almost knocks his seat over. He stands still for a second, attempts to rein in his anger and tamp down the hateful words threatening to spill out. "Look," he snaps, walking around his desk to confront Castiel. “Just give me a friggin break, okay." He says, forcing a casual tone, but the simmering rage bubbling under his skin makes him irrational, and he fails miserably. “Just...don't bother. I don't wanna hear it."

_Well, so much for casual._

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do when you’re not in my classroom, _Mr. Novak,_ so do me a favor and save it for somebody who does.” Dean's anger is getting the better of him, he's almost shouting, the harsh words meant to hurt Castiel, to make the teen feel at least a shred of Dean's anguish, of his suffering.

Dean tips his head lower, matches Castiel's startled gaze with his own fury filled glare, then pauses; this close he can practically taste the boy. His nostrils flare when he takes a deep long pull of Castiel's sweet smelling musk. It's exquisite. He sighs, licks his lips, and hates himself for it.

"Which I’m pretty sure…“ he says softly, all but exhaling the words. “That, um, in your case, it won’t be too difficult, seeing as you have an endless stream of beaus at your disposal.”

His anger fizzles, and now, drained from his mini tantrum, Dean turns back to his desk and plops down. “Now, how about you get your text book out so we can get started, hm?” he suggests, not bothering to look up at the glowering teen, uneasy after succumbing so easily to his pathetic jealousy. “Oh, and don’t worry, I’ll try to keep this brief. Just like you, I’m eager to get the hell out of here and on with my own date.” _Lie!_ “Although,” he keeps going, this time making eye contact. “I’m sure you’re especially desperate to get this over with so you can get back to _Balthazar,_ or any of the other countless men you must have waiting at your disposal.” It's a cruel taunt, he knows it, but he's so far gone, there's no stopping him.

Castiel doesn’t say a word; he won’t deign to respond to Dean’s childish behavior or his vicious comments. He drops his eyes instead, turns his back on the still fuming man, and walks to the nearest desk. Once seated he pulls out his books, arranges his tools, sets himself up nicely, and ignores his teacher. It's a calculated move, but it pays off nicely.

“Ready?” Dean barks, trying to get Castiel to look at him. "Well?" He asks, loud and obnoxious, boring a hole through top of the teenager’s head.

Still not looking up, Castiel replies in a bland monotone. “Whenever you are.”

 _Fine, so now he won’t even look at me? When just a few hours ago he was practically humping my leg! Okay, fine, two can play that game!_ Dean thinks, and pursing his lips, proceeds to prove that age doesn’t necessarily equate maturity.

...

It’s a good half hour later before Castiel speaks up again. But in all fairness to his pride, it’s in response to Dean’s question.

“The correct answer is A., the encoder.” He replies stiffly, but when Dean signals with a wave of his hand for the teenager to go on, Castiel elaborates with the following, “In this case, it’s the encoder in the communications system that receives the signal and converts it into a digital stream.”

Dean leans back in his seat and grins, a genuine pleased smile that lights up his handsome face. “That’s right, Mr. Novak, very good.” he says, clearly impressed by Castiel’s brilliance. “That was a tricky one, too. You’re the only one that got it right.” He admits, nodding his head and smiling despite his earlier rancor. Unfortunately, the hope that they had reached a point in the evening where they could move past their earlier ill feelings towards each other, slips away when Castiel doesn’t even acknowledge the compliment.

Dean drops his eyes back to the text, grips the edges of the large tome tightly, and turns the page with more force than necessary. “Alright, let’s see,” he sighs tiredly. “That was the last question from this afternoon’s pop quiz...which you missed.” He mutters, not caring if the teen hears the childish jab or not. "And after that I was, um, going to go into linear equations and their applications in engineering.” He recites by rote, more concerned over the unsettling pain twisting and tearing at his heart, than repeating their day’s foiled study plan.

“Are you freaking serious? We already covered those!"

Dean’s head snaps up, startled from his morose thoughts by the outrage in Castiel’s tone. “Beg your pardon?” he asks, brow furrowing in mild amusement.

Castiel leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Mr. Winchester, I asked if you seriously intend on going over work that has already been covered. Extensively. At the start of this school year. By you.” He clarifies, stressing every word with a squinty-eyed glare.

“Well, be that as it may, Mr. Novak,” Dean replies not bothering to keep the venom from his tone, and mirroring the boy’s posture, folds his larger, more sculpted arms across his broader chest, and with a hard cold smile, explains, “The majority of your classmates fared poorly on last week’s mid-term exam. And, even though you aced it, because apparently you’re a bonafide genius,” he adds, eyes steady on the teen’s, no hint of sarcasm behind the praise. “You don’t get a free pass on any of my classes.

“But…since I'm feeling generous today, I’ll give you two choices. One, you can suck it up and suffer through another long series of agonizing lessons on this subject in blessed silence" he stresses. "Or..." he pauses and leans over his desk, eyes unblinking, focus razor sharp on Castiel’s face. “Two…you can try to be a little more generous and a lot less selfish with your time and offer to tutor those students in dire need of your, ahem, special talents. That’s if your many boyfriends don’t mind sharing you a few times a week. Don’t want to make them jealous, do we? And we definitely don’t want them thinking that I might be trying to keep you from them on purpose. Or, god forbid, take you for myself. Hmpft," he snorts in derision. "As if I'd be interested in their hand-me-downs.”

Castiel gasps, a sharp intake of breath, astonished by Dean’s scathing comments, and can’t for the life of him fathom the reasons behind Dean’s hostility, especially when he laces so many of his rather rude, if not downright vicious remarks, with sexual innuendos. It’s incredibly hurtful, frustrating, and continuously puzzling to the teen.

Right from the start, from the very first second he set eyes on Dean, all Castiel has ever wanted was Dean’s esteem and respect.

That he's longed, hoped, and pined for the older man’s affections, as well, goes without saying. But he realized, very early on, that those things would have to be earned. And he’s tried. _Oh boy has he_ _tried._ Used every trick in the book, every weapon in his arsenal, _subtlety be damned!_

Of course, Dean’s above average good looks added substantially to Castiel’s attraction for the young teacher, but that was never the sole reason for his initial pursuit.

Truth be told, Castiel has been in love, or at least in complete awe, with the genius-level mathematician, ever since he started following Dean’s career-path, some seven years back.

As a precocious ten year old, Castiel actively sought out and read any publication that featured the highly heralded Cal Tech graduate. He was immediately entranced by Dean Winchester, who instead of seeking fortune and fame amongst the academic elite upon graduation, chose to spread his vast knowledge where he believed it would do the most good; with America’s high school students. Especially those teens eager to go into the sciences, but for one reason or another, struggled, yet still hungered to excel.

The more Castiel delved into Dean’s origins, the more intrigued he became, the more his obsession grew. He eventually learned that Dean (the very definition of a juvenile delinquent in his early youth) only flourished in school after overcoming a very traumatic childhood. Because of the opportunities presented to him by his surrogate father, Bobby Singer – also a high school math teacher – the guidance and encouragement of a mentor, the acceptance and stability of a family base – Dean was able to tap into his innate talent and natural affinity for learning and redirect his grief, trauma, and youthful restlessness into teaching.

And that is why, ever since their first encounter, Castiel has all but thrown himself at the older man, in most cases brazenly, unashamedly, never holding back on how much he wants Dean Winchester to be his and in turn, be completely owned by his teacher. Anything less was simply not an option.

But all of his efforts, his ceaseless attempts and creative endeavors to achieve his goals, have been thwarted by Dean himself. He’s met obstacle after obstacle in the form of his very obstinate teacher; it’s been an uphill battle for the tenacious youth. That Dean has managed to resist his undeniable charisma, his thick as honey magnetism, his non-too-subtle advances, has baffled Castiel to no end.

Up until now, life for the physically stunning youth has been a veritable smorgasbord, a fuck-buffet, if you will. But Dean’s reactions have been contrary to his expectations, a figurative slap in the face and a brutal beating to his ego.

Ultimately, it seems that all of his hard work was for naught, all of his efforts backfiring, a wretched failure. Because unbeknownst to the love-struck youth, flaunting his complete and utter awesomeness over every other person within Dean's immediate orbit, only elevated Castiel to such ridiculously unattainable heights – in Dean's eyes anyway – that the only thing he successfully managed to achieve with the persistence of his pursuit, was to scare Dean away.

Or so he believed.

But now, six months after their initial meeting, it finally hits him. Everything, all of his flirting and bating has actually worked, actually paid off. Because now, he sees that the reason behind Dean’s constant rejection is not because the older man _doesn't_ want Castiel, but because he does! Dean sees him as too perfect, too untouchable, and completely out of his league. _That has to be it, right?_

“Oh my god!” Castiel gasps, stunned, hand rising to cover the shocked 'O' of his mouth as the truth of this knowledge sinks in, blue eyes growing larger with understanding.

Dean is jealous, quite epically, in fact.

“You…you’re jealous.” He accuses, pointing at Dean with one finger while patting his chest with his other hand. “I mean, I guess I should say I’m surprised. But really,” he purrs, voice-dipping lower, leaning over his own desktop. “Who are we kidding here?” he asks, winking suggestively, foolishly reverting to his former cocky self-assured guise.

 _Fuck, am I that transparent?_ Dean wonders with something close to disgust over his own shortcomings. He swallows thickly, throat suddenly too dry, cheeks reddening from the scorching heat that flares up his neck when he hears the senior's raspy baritone; the lower timbre in the teenager’s voice and his shameless come on, causes Dean's dick to jerk with interest, but he resists. “Pahleeze,” he huffs instead, throwing his head back and laughing way too forced and way too loud to be truly convincing. “Don’t...do not flatter yourself, kid.” He croaks, voice breaking. “I’m not big on sloppy seconds.” He counters and grins, knowing he’s hit Castiel where it hurts when the teen visibly winces.

And it does hurt. A lot. Way more than Castiel thinks it should. But hearing the man he loves and admires speak those words with such cruel disdain, is like having the air punched right out of him. He almost staggers, wondering how he could have misjudged the situation so completely; he’d been so sure Dean wanted him as well.

He drops his eyes and stares at his hands, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his palms, denting the skin and leaving behind deep crescents. “I…I’m done.” He stammers, giving up, eyes still lowered, voice rough with emotion. “I can’t anymore. You win, Dean.”

_Dean?_

“It’s Mr. Winchester... slut.” Dean hisses without thinking, spitting the vicious words out in a low rush of air.

It's more than Castiel can take. The teen’s eyes snap back to Dean’s, not because he heard the harsh words, but because he actually felt the wave of irrational rage, like a physical blow, wash over him. “Wha-what?” he asks unable to hide his shock at Dean’s unwarranted attack, and it pisses him off. "Why do you…I don’t understand.” He says voice dropping low, his rising anger making it sound rough and gritty, dangerous; Dean’s baseless aggression towards him is overwhelming, too confusing, and painful. Castiel has had enough. “Why do you hate me so much?" He demands to know. "What have I done to warrant this...abuse? Answer me!" he growls, but his eyes are glassy and his words are chocked and broken.

The flash of anger in Dean’s eyes dims and the fire in his blood cools, eyes dropping in shame when he sees the effect his thoughtless remarks have on the visibly crushed teen. But he recovers quickly, shaking off the momentary insane hope that his student’s reactions, his anger and pain, might be genuine, that Castiel could feel anything other than an amused interest in him.

Dean still stubbornly refuses to believe Castiel’s advances could be sincere. _It’s not possible!_

Even though Dean doesn’t deny the electrical charge in the air whenever they’re in the same room, his view on their whole fucked up ‘relationship’, or lack thereof, has been totally different than Castiel's. Because just as Castiel suspects, Dean sees the teenager, for lack of a better word, as perfect.

Dean absolutely loves everything about the boy, not that he would ever admit it, especially to Castiel. From the teenager’s over-confident cockiness, to his brash smugness, from his stellar intelligence and dry wit, to those few precious moments of melancholic introspection that Dean catches glimpses of whenever the teen thinks no one is looking; especially then, when the boy lets his guard down, does Dean truly appreciate the infinite complexities that make up that arrogant little prick.

“Look, quit trying to get out of tutoring.” He argues, expertly deflecting Castiel's outrage as his skewed logic kicks in. _Because yeah, that’s_ _totally why the boy looks so…hurt._ “Most of these kids are your friends, remember? Just suck it up,” _Suck it up, really?_ "And help me, I, I mean, them... help them out.”

Dean face-palms from the verbal slip, but barrels on. “Just stop with the crocodile tears, already. Don’t be such a drama queen, geesh. Nobody hates you! Just help your friggin peers, and then you can go back to your merry bedfellows.”

Castiel settles back into his seat, shoulders tense, posture ramrod straight. “Very well.” he replies, voice flat expression blank, he's shutting off, coming to terms with the fact that Dean Winchester will never look upon him with kindness, let alone love. And no longer caring to spend anymore ‘alone time’ with his idol, and more than a little desperate to escape this nightmare, adds, “Will that be all, Mr. Winchester? I’ve got places I need to be.”

 _No, that’s not fucking all! I’m not done with you, yet!_ Dean wants to shout. _Please don’t go! Stay with_ _me! Please stay with me!_ He wants to beg, the words like bullets ricocheting around his addled brain, loud and deafening. But he won’t say them out loud, never let Castiel know how truly pathetic and madly in love he is. So instead, he bites back the words he desperately wishes he had the courage to confess and utters with an unimpressed snort, “Yeah, get out of here. I’m done with you too.”

Castiel quickly, and silently, starts gathering his supplies, opening his bag with surprisingly steady hands, neatly storing his things away and so lost in his own riotous thoughts that he nearly jumps out of his seat when Dean taps him on the shoulder, reflexively reaching up and grabbing onto his teacher’s hand before the older man can pull it away.

They lock eyes then, really stop and look at one another, each taking a moment to memorize the contours and features of the other’s beloved face. It’s Dean that finally breaks the silence.

“Ah…sorry, didn’t mean to…” he starts to say, voice low, intimate, tongue running across his dry lips, resisting the urge to turn away and cover his reddening face from the teen’s scrutiny. “I was calling you, but you didn’t hear me. So, ah, here.” He says, shoving a piece of paper at the gaping youth with his free hand while purposefully keeping his trapped hand under the heavy weight of Castiel’s tight grip.

“Mmmm…“

“It’s, um, a list of the areas that we need to focus on. For you to…that you need to focus on. For the kids. The ah, on the things…stuff, they need the most help on.” Dean sputters, words tumbling out, taken aback by Castiel’s iron like grip and penetrative stare, unable to think clearly or piece words together, all of his focus currently on the teenager’s unwavering gaze and the overwhelming warmth radiating up his arm from their point of contact. He feels his body heating up, making him downright dizzy, and in a moment of absolute lunacy, squeezes the teen’s shoulder and leans in closer.

It’s almost comical how wide Castiel’s eyes become from the unexpected act. As it is, the provocative gesture leaves him practically flailing in shock. “Sh-sure…” he stutters and gulps. “I’ll study it carefully and set up a schedule. I-I’ll have it ready for you by tomorrow morning, Dee-, I mean, Mr. Winchester.”

"Yeah, s'good.” Dean says and smiles, eyes glued to the teen’s, sending another series of shivers through Castiel’s spine when he squeezes the boy’s softly muscled shoulder again. “Look, Cas, I mean, Castiel,” he corrects and leans just a little bit closer, breaking into the boy’s personal bubble. “We, ah, still have some time left and um, more of the lesson to cover…that you missed, that is. So, maybe, stay a little while longer, okay. Don’t rush off yet.” he whispers, tone hushed, as if about to impart a well-guarded secret.

And who knows, maybe he is.

Castiel’s eyes grow impossibly large, so much so Dean fears that if he were to fall, he’d drown in their bottomless depths. _Oh, but what a way to go._

“…Yes.” Castiel sighs replying to Dean's question with a small hopeful smile. “I mean, no.” he adds almost immediately, expression dreamy and far away.

“No?” Dean’s face drops and his heart clenches. “No…you won’t stay?”

_Fucking knew it!_

Castiel nods in the affirmative, once, twice. But when Dean bites his lip and starts to pull away, he shakes his head furiously, eyes clearing, and blurts out, “Yes! I mean, no!” he seesaws, making no sense whatsoever. “I don’t want to leave. I mean, I don’t want to risk upsetting Principal Moseley by not staying and completing today’s lesson plan. Right?” he scrambles to explain, tightening his hold on Dean’s hand and ever so slowly, dragging it towards his chest.

“Y-yeah, me neither.” Dean nods, body flooding with relief. “Don’t want to be on the receiving end of Missouri’s wrath, that’s for sure.” He chuckles softly, more pleased than he cares to admit over Castiel's reply, and bending unnecessarily closer, places the hand not currently clutched in Castiel's warm grasp on top of the teen's desk.

Castiel doesn’t pull away, if anything, he inches up, inclining his body slowly towards his teacher’s with every intention of meeting him in the middle. He licks his lips, this time the gesture is unconscious, and with a gentle tug to Dean’s hand, closes the mile-wide gap that separates him from the man of his dreams.

Dean’s eyes immediately flick from Castiel’s mouth to his eyes, back to his mouth, riveted to the boy’s face, moving closer, chasing the teen’s tongue like a lure, hand still clasped tightly around Castiel’s, face so close to the boy's, he can feel the moist heat from each exhale.

It’s incredibly dangerous and extremely stupid, but Dean can’t be bothered to care. No, right now, all he cares about, all he wants, is to close the last few inches separating their mouths and finally press his lips against Castiel’s, to kiss and taste the boy, to suck on his watermelon candy-coated tongue, and only separate when the bothersome need for oxygen becomes necessary.

Castiel’s eyes grow dark, an obvious hunger brewing in their depths after he inhales the masculine scent of Dean's aftershave, and he whimpers, an almost silent moan that rumbles through his chest. He sighs and his lips part.

They’re both panting softly, knowing exactly what’s about to happen, faces close enough now for their noses to brush, thrilling from the anticipation, the air around them crackles, their bodies screaming _finally_ and _just a little closer,_ they can almost taste the other from their shared exhales, from their exchanged sighs, from the building heat, from their...

A very loud and very obnoxious honk from just outside the classroom’s window, startles them apart.

 **“Hey, Cassie, haul ass!”** someone whistles and yells.

Dean tears free from Castiel’s grasp and grimaces. “You’re boyfriend’s here!” He snaps and turns towards the noise. He nearly trips trying to reach the window but once there doesn’t hesitate to lean out and yell angrily, “Shut that goddamn noise! Your boyfriend will be out in a minute!” _douche bag_ goes unsaid.

“No…that’s not, I mean, you don’t understand. It’s not what you think.” Castiel rushes to explain, getting up and running to Dean’s side, wrapping his long fingers around his teacher’s forearm. “Dean, please, that’s-“

Dean wrenches his arm free and rounds on Castiel, the boy stares back, mouth gaping, brows arced high, his face a mask of sorrow laced with more than a little fear.

“Don ‘t you fucking touch me… _Cassie_.” He spits. “Go, get out!” he hisses, baring his teeth and pointing to the door.

“But, Dean, please, just let me-“

 **“Hey, what’s the hold up?”** the voice from outside wants to know.

Dean steps around Castiel and returns to his desk, sits down and starts shuffling his papers into a neat stack. “Look, regardless of the little games you seem to enjoy playing, Mr. Novak,” he says coolly, eyes down. “I still expect you to live up to our bargain. “ He looks up, expression stern and cold. “Capiche?”

“I-“

 **“Don’t make me come in there and get you!”** the outside voice singsongs.

“Just…please go.” Dean tells the thoroughly devastated teen and goes back to his paperwork, not looking up until he hears the classroom door open then close, the soft click echoing like a sonic boom in the suddenly suffocating quiet of the large room.


	3. Lonely is the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's so tired of this – bone deep exhausted over his feelings for Castiel and their constant fighting. He wishes like hell he could just drop this ridiculous façade, run after the teenager, wrap him in his arms, and beg for his forgiveness; show him how truly sorry he is with his mouth and hands, kiss his endless apologies into the teen’s skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. I wanted to post twice this week, but I forgot about the holiday and my plans got all squiffy. Promise to update with a hotter, longer ep next week.  
> Chapter title's from a great Billy Squire song. Gah, now I'm dating myself!  
> Hope you enjoy, and please let me know your thoughts. I LOVE LOVE LOVE reading your comments!!

The door closes and Dean's shoulders drop, would have sunken to the ground if he wasn't already sitting when Castiel walked out of his classroom.

"Fuck's wrong with me?" He mutters glumly, slumping further into his seat. It's like someone took a pair of scissors to his marionette's strings and cut him loose, savagely snipping his tethers, severing the only connection that was keeping him upright, leaving him jelly-limbed and boneless, helplessly collapsing in on himself.

He sits there for a long while after, the tightness in his chest eventually loosening enough so that his slump becomes more a sag, but he's not sure if it's in relief or in defeat. He's still so stupidly stunned by what almost happened. _Was about to happen._

“Damn it.” He mumbles dejectedly and drops his head into the cradle of his arms. He's broken up, torn to pieces over the stricken look on Castiel’s beautiful face when he threw the boy out. "I fucked up, I fucked up, fucking fucked up, fuck, fuck..." He laments weakly, sighing the words softly into the crook of his elbow.

He's so tired of this – bone deep exhausted over his feelings for Castiel and their constant fighting. He wishes like hell he could just drop this ridiculous façade, run after the teenager, wrap him in his arms, and beg for his forgiveness; show him how truly sorry he is with his mouth and hands, kiss his endless apologies into the teen’s skin.

But he didn't, and he won't.

Dean grit his teeth instead and kept firm. He stubbornly ignored the way Castiel’s jaw worked around unsaid words and the liquid that flooded his eyes, grateful as fuck when the teen finally gave up and left after realizing he was beyond listening, and that any attempts on Castiel's part to be heard, would be pointless.

_But what did the boy expect? Seriously, what?_

As it is, Castiel lingered for far too long. And Dean would be lying if he said it didn’t’ hurt when the teen's boyfriend unexpectedly showed up and whisked him away. Because it did. Like a motherfucker.

Even now, hours later, Dean's still trying to find a way to chase away the bitter sting that's still coursing through his body and erase the foul taste that lingers in his mouth.

“So what’s got your satin-panties all in a bunch?” Charlie asks jokingly, scooting closer to Dean and punching him lightly on the shoulder to get his attention. "It's like you're a million miles away."

The petite redhead raced over to his place after a brief conversation, where all of Dean's responses were in the form of noncommittal grunts, alarmed her sufficiently to rush over and check in on him.

Now, sitting on Dean’s couch, Charlie’s initial fear that all was not well with her best-friend is justified, if the somber mood and the beer that he’s _nursing_ is anything to go by.

“Quit it.” Dean gripes, shooing her away with an impatient wave of his hand. “I’m fine. Here, let me get you another beer.” he smoothly deflects, reaching for her empty bottle and bracing himself on the sofa’s edge before getting up.

But Charlie's on to him and doesn’t back away, instead she readjusts her position and places him in a headlock. “I will when you tell me what’s eating ya.” She insists, grunting as she clumsily clambers on top of him. “Is it Lisa? Aaron? Why are you so...out of it?”

Dean barely struggles in her grasp, makes no real effort to shake her off, doesn’t really register the weight or strain as her tiny body valiantly tries to overpower his powerful frame. If anything, it's what she said that's left him floundering for words.

 _She’s right,_ he reflects, _I am miles away._ _Or at least hours away._

It's only been a few short hours since he was alone with Castiel. Since he and the teen argued. Since he and the boy locked horns. Since Dean hovered predatorily over Castiel and Castiel, always giving as good as he gets, surged up to meet him, head on, matching Dean’s fire with his own, and they almost…

He shudders over that near miss, because just as he had predicted, the ill-conceived private lesson with the teenager, a near fatal accident waiting to happen, ended on a disastrous note. That's not to say that things were going smoothly between the two throughout the course of their session, but when the boy’s boyfriend demanded that Castiel leave with him, well then, that’s when things went from gut wrenching horrible, to outright catastrophic for Dean.

He shudders again, terrified of what might have happened if the teen hadn’t left when he did. But a small part of him, the part he desperately tries to keep in check, can't help the wave of disappointment that swept through him over the ill timed interruption, or the infuriating need to destroy his rival that accompanied it.

“Ah-ha! Why did you shiver just now?” Charlie asks, immediately picking up on Dean's uncharacteristic skittishness and demanding to know the cause. "Come on, fess up, is it Lisa or-"

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Dean finally answers, voice a raspy croak from her choke-hold. “G’off, s’nothing, can’t breathe!”

She gives him one last tight squeeze then bounces off and away. “Spill!”

"Look, it's nothing like that, okay. And anyway, you know Lisa's dating Victor."

"Victor? I thought she was dating Gordon?"

"That douche? No! Besides, he's got the hots for Jo."

"Jo? I thought she was with Benny?"

"No, Jo's dating my brother."

"No way! You mean Sam and Jess broke up!"

"Are you nuts?! No, Jo's with Adam. I've got two brothers, remember?"

"Geesh, Winchester," Charlie grumbles, exhaling her own shaky breath. "Give a girl a break, okay. it's hard as hell to keep up with all of your love-life's. It's like a freaking episode of Melrose Place, ‘round this bitch."

"Hmpht, careful dude," Dean snorts. "Your age is showing."

Charlie just rolls her eyes at Dean's dig and huffs with feigned annoyance. "Well, unlike you, Dean, we here in the twenty-first century have a little something we like to call Netflix. We use it whenever we need to delve into the past." she retorts cheekily, but then using her most intimidating _I'm-not-kidding-and-I-mean-business_ voice, says, "And quit trying to change the subject!"

Dean turns from her fierce glower and rubs at his tender neck, not because he’s really hurt but because he’s buying time; he needs to think over all of his options and weigh them closely in order to gauge which excuse will satisfy her curiosity and hopefully throw her off track.

“None of your beeswax.” He eventually replies, _‘cause it’s been a hell of a long day,_ and that’s all he can come up with at that moment. “Chrissakes, you make it sound like I actually have something to hide.” He counters, meeting her eyes again and giving her an offended eye-roll of his own.

Charlie eyeballs him a moment longer then throws her hands up in defeat. “Fine, have it your way.” She cedes, _for now_ , then bounds right back towards him. “Just don’t come crying to me when _whoever_ you’re messing around with breaks your heart!” she warns, lips a tight line, brow furrowed, poking a pink manicured fingernail threateningly against his chest.

Dean reaches for her hand and stills the offending finger, patting the digit gently to calm her. “Thanks, I think, but, don’t worry about me. Everything’s peachy.”

“A-hum, sure.” she answers with a tentative nod, not believing one single word. “Peachy, you say?” she challenges, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Okay, Winchester, if you say so...but be careful, for fraks sake." She orders but the look of genuine concern on her pretty face belies the stern coldness of her words.

…

“The hell, Cassie? That hurt!” Gabriel yelps, rubbing aggressively over the blossoming bruise where his baby brother punched him. “Way to be grateful for the ride.”

Castiel ignores his brother's protests and fixes him with a murderous glare, fists clenched tightly at his sides. “What were you thinking, Gabriel?" He hisses angrily. "What you did was very…wrong. My teacher was furious over the interruption. We were in the middle of a lesson and he-“

“Wait a sec there, bro.” Gabriel interrupts, hand shooting up to halt Castiel's rant. “What exactly did I interrupt?" He asks shrewdly. "What exactly were you and your teacher, your much, _much_ older teacher,” he emphasizes. “Doing, that couldn’t be interrupted?”

Castiel stills at the unexpected question. “Ah…” he starts, at a complete loss on how to answer. Of course, he knows what not to say. But he’s finding it exceedingly difficult to answer so simple a question under his older brother’s narrow eyed scrutiny.

Well, simple on the surface, that is. Because whatever it was he and Dean were doing, or in this case, not doing, is a mystery even to him. “We were…I mean I was catching up on some work I missed, of course.” He finally manages, and if he holds his chin up defiantly and his tone is at all defensive, well, it’s only because he’s still upset with Gabriel over the whole car honking fiasco.

“Ah-hum.” Gabriel ah-hums, brow cocked in utter disbelief. “So you mean to tell me that the reason you’re so worked up over getting picked up, late I might add, is because the two of you were really, like seriously, into your lesson?” he asks, words laced with more than a touch of skepticism. “That also why you felt the need to beat my arm black and blue? Because I cut your ‘lesson’ short?” he air quotes, must be a Novak thing. “And not at all because I interrupted your ‘bonding’ session,” air quoting again. “With your too-hot-for-his-own-good, teacher, right?” he sums up, knowing he's right when he sees Castiel's cheeks turn an alarming shade of red.

Castiel opens his mouth to protest, to offer an excuse, any excuse. “Like I said,” he reiterates, but this time it’s in a small, defeated voice, eyes staring at the floor, shoulders drooping, much like Dean's were earlier. “We were…he was going over today’s lesson with me. That’s all we were up to.” He admits sadly, and it’s mostly true.

Gabriel snorts and Castiel’s head shoots up.

“Cassie, Cassie, Cassie…” Gabriel tsks, striding over to his brother’s side and resting both arms around the younger boy’s shoulders. “What the hell were you thinking? Hell, what the hell was he thinking?”

“Gabriel, I don’t know-“

“Don’t even.” Gabriel shushes, reaching up and pinching Castiel’s top and bottom lip shut with the pads of two fingers, silencing him. “Don’t’ try to bullshit a bullshiter.”

Castiel pushes him off with an aggravated grunt. “Believe what you want, because as much as I would love for there to be something between me and that wonderful man, sadly, there isn’t.” he accidentally confesses, not really sure what possessed him to divulge so huge a secret to his brother, but feels unexpected relief flood his system from his shared grief.

Gabriel doesn’t say a word, to Castiel’s astonishment, further compounding it when instead of berating Castiel for his utter lack of good judgment, engulfs him in a heartfelt embrace.

“Gabe?” Castiel asks after an awkward moment of not knowing whether or not to return his brother’s embrace, but then he finally relents and returns it enthusiastically. “How did you know?”

Gabriel loosens his hold and steps back, but only after he feels Castiel’s shoulder relax. “I've always known. Well, maybe not always, but definitely since you started going on and on about how you were going to marry him when you were old enough. You were what, five?"

"Try ten, Gabe. And I never claimed I wanted to marry him.” _Not out loud, anyway._

"Heh, me thinks thou doth protest too much, Cassie, but whatevs. Point is, I've known about your epic crush on the very epic Dr. Winchester-”

“And don’t refer to him as doctor. Dean says it makes him feel-“

“Dear God you're whipped!” Gabriel grimaces, cutting his brother off sharply and throwing his arms up imploringly. But when he sees there’s no guidance coming from the heavens, heaves a huge dramatic sigh, and continues. “Anyhoo, like I was saying, before you so rudely interrupted me, I've known about your feelings since the first time you mentioned him.” he says again, placing both hands, palms open, on the teen’s shoulders, and gazing at him steadily with his kind amber eyes.

“>_<”

“Hey, come on. Look, none of that, okay.” Gabriel chastises, face uncharacteristically serious, but his tone is soft, free of judgment or condemnation. “It’s okay, honest. Well…” he pauses and looks up, taking a moment to consider the truth of that claim. “Maybe not so much in the eyes of the law. Or mom and dad. Or society. Your school. Or your other boyfriends. Probably not so great for your teacher’s boyfriends, either. Heh,” he laughs wryly. “Actually, pretty much nobody else is gonna be on board with your illicit affair. But I’m okay with it. So…” he shrugs.

Castiel groans inwardly, already painfully aware of every obstacle his brother helpfully pointed out. He's also contemplated, quite thoroughly in fact, what the ramifications would be if he and Dean were found out. If there was anything to find out, that is. Which at the moment, there isn’t; a fact that has driven the teen to resort to some rather drastic measures. But at this point, and especially after their unfortunately interrupted private lesson, Castiel is convinced of Dean’s very real interest in him and is willing to do anything and everything, to get his man.

And he will.

In fact, almost immediately after their disastrous lesson ended, the teen started formulating his new plan of attack. ‘Operation-Reverse Psychology’, he coined it, and he's more than ready, if downright impatient, to put it into affect the second he comes face to face again with its intended target.

But for now, in the accepting presence of his well-meaning, but troublesome brother, Castiel pushes aside all possible and probable repercussions, and smiles. “Gabe, I…thank you.” he says, and means it, grateful, from the bottom of his heart, to have Gabriel in his corner.

“No problemo, little bro. Besides, you’ll be legal by Christmas and as long as this dude makes you happy, and does right by you, then, I’m happy too. But just FYI,” he adds, tone hardening. “All kidding aside, if he hurts you…I hurt him.” he warns, then shaking off the sudden tension in the air, smirks and waggles his eyebrows. “Now, tell me, is that hunk of a man, cut or uncut?”

…

Dean wakes the following morning feeling, well...like shit. But also with a new found sense of purpose; he's going to terminate, once and for all, his unhealthy feelings for Castiel.

It's a scheme he came up with when he realized, after hours of tossing and turning, that he needed to figure out a way around this particular clusterfuck, or sleep would forever be out of reach.

When he next sees Castiel, Dean will act as if nothing happened – or was about to happen, or will ever happen – between him and the teen. He will go about business as usual. Get back to his regularly scheduled routines. Go out with his friends. Catch up with his brothers. Heck, even hit a bar or two, turn on that old Winchester charm and score a hot piece of ass to warm his bed, instead of relying solely on his out of control fantasies.

With this plan, Dean hopes to move past his ridiculous crush on Castiel and push all thoughts and feelings for the teenager aside, store them in the deepest, darkest depths of his psyche, so far inside, even he will be immune to their influence. Fingers crossed!

He takes a deep breath, stretches out his long limbs while still under the covers and reflects solemnly on the reasons surrounding his decision. "It'll have to do." He mutters in the silent room, because the alternative, a fantasy fueled fake reality, is unacceptable. And that’s exactly what an affair with the beguiling teen would be, an unreal, untrue, impossible, living dream.

"Jesus, kid, what the hell have you done to me?" Dean asks the empty room, rubbing roughly at his dry, irritated, sleep deprived eyes, then reaches to his side, grabs a pillow, and pulls it tightly against his chest.

"Cas..." he sighs sadly into the plush give of his pillow, and closes his eyes. Now, instead of a pillow, it's the boy's lean limbed body he's holding, the teenager's fragrant neck he's inhaling, Castiel's smooth skinned back he's reverently running his hands over, and the boy’s taut warm belly his morning wood rubs against.

"Not again...” he sighs ruefully, powerless to stop his hand from dipping under the waistband of his boxers and his fingers from wrapping around his dick. "Fuck it," he concedes, _because what's one last time,_ _anyway_. One last hurrah, one more precious session where he allows himself to indulge in what he most desires, what he most wants and needs, to be with Castiel.

He gives himself over to this final-fantasy, eyes sealing shut, legs falling open, breath coming out in short shallow gasps. "Mmmm...yeah..." He moans, luxuriating in the glorious riot of pleasure that races up his spine. "...Castiel," he sighs, loving the feel of the boy's full name as it rolls off his tongue.

And with his length firmly in hand, Dean jerks off to the erotic-as-fuck image of his dick slipping deliciously into Castiel’s tight heat.

...

Castiel wakes the following morning feeling much the same way as Dean…like shit. But also, with something very close to hope. And that feeling buoys his spirit.

 _Today's the day,_ he thinks and smiles.

The day he's putting his new plan of attack into effect, and his confidence is riding high. And even though his chest is stuffed full of butterflies beating frantically to get out – because it's all or nothing from here on out – today _is_ the day he will finally make Dean his.

And nothing, not his reputation (the teen is well aware of the fact that everyone knows he's been ‘around’) or his past partners, of which there have been numerous. Or even Dean, whose main objection to a romantic relationship with Castiel is not because he truly believes the teen to be a ‘slut’ or that he’s ‘tainted-goods’, let alone ‘sloppy-seconds’, as Dean so cruelly pointed out the previous afternoon, but because he knows perfectly well that the promiscuous teenager can have anyone, literally. But these trivialities are all moot. Because from here on out, nothing will stand in Castiel’s way.

There is one more thing, however, one minor itsy-bitsy detail Castiel purposefully neglected to broadcast. A revelation he's kept to himself until certain of Dean’s future role in his life. And what is this huge mystery that surrounds the teen? It's quite simply the fact that Castiel, for all intents and purposes, is still a virgin.

That’s not to imply that Castiel is a saint - he's far, far from it - because he does have a great deal of sexual ‘experience’ under his belt, especially for someone so young. For one thing, he’s had plenty of oral sex, both on the giving and receiving end. There’s also been a great deal of fondling and groping, tons of making out, but no one, _ever_ , has fucked him, or, been fucked by him.

No, Castiel can honestly say he’s never dipped his dick into anybody else’s hole, boy or girl. Although he’s had plenty of opportunities, hundreds, really. And yet he’s turned them all down, every last single one, for Dean.

He vowed years ago to wait for his ideal, and he has. Because when he loses his virginity, it’s not going to be to some random fuck. No, when he does, It's going to be for love. And after today, if all goes as he hopes, his wait will finally be over. 

This very uplifting thought leaves him giddy, soaring sky-high on his euphoria.

He stretches in bed, raising his arms over his head and yawns. "Mmm...Dean..." He sighs happily, voice gruff and sleep slurred, then drops his arms and rubs tiredly at his eyes. He turns on his side and checks the time on his nightstand. "Plenty of time." He smiles knowingly, then reaches under the sheets and shrugs out of his sweat pants.

The cool pocket of air created by jostling out of his clothes sends a jolt of pleasure throughout his sleep-warmed skin, and the feather light touch of the soft, soft sheets brushing over his morning wood intensifies his need for release even more, and it makes him groan, makes him gasp, makes his breath come out faster.

He caresses his thighs with the tips of his fingers, fleeting skittering touches that leave his groin tingling with anticipation and his flesh, goose bumped. He draws his knees up and spreads them wide. “…Dean-" he huffs longingly, head pressed flat against his pillows, eyes closed, using one hand to forcibly shove the sheets past his knees and the other to take a firm hold of his stiff cock, giving it a few slow pulls until it’s iron hard and the tip is pooling with his building excitement.

“D-Dean –“ he stammers, breath hitching, and _fuck, I'm already so close._ “Umpht…” he moans, using his thumb to rub tantalizing little circles around the slicked head of his dick. He sucks in his bottom lip and begins thrusting slowly into his fist, cups his balls with his free hand and gently massages them, groaning from the building pleasure, from the velvet weight between his fingers, from the very real possibility that after today, Dean will be his partner the next time he whips his dick out.

His arousal spikes and his pace quickens.

His hand’s a blur of movement as he jerks off to images of Dean fucking him: of Dean pounding his ass with a relentless urgency, of Dean’s fingers sliding smoothly from his balls to his hole and the insistent pressure against his entrance, prodding and poking until his finger pushes past the tight resistance. Dean breaches Castiel, entering his body with one finger then hastily adding a second, but it’s too soon and it burns. Castiel’s back arcs and his hips press down, pushing Dean’s fingers deeper, he grunts from the stretch and pull, clenching his jaw shut, lips curling back and baring his teeth, _feeling fucking amazing_.

Castiel gasps, chocking on a mixture of curses, endearments, and _Dean, Dean, Dean –_ hips bouncing faster as he drives himself deeper and harder onto his lover’s fingers. But the penetration’s not enough and he adds a third finger, and _oh yeah, fuck, just like that_ , he purrs encouragingly to his lover, but when dream-Dean passionately whispers his imaginary reply into Castiel’s neck, the boy shatters and cums.

“Mm…me…too, D-Dean….” He answers back. “Always… always, love you-“ he pants, heart racing as his hips slow their frantic rhythm. “So much.” He swears, not loosening his grip until his dick is emptied.

“Jesus, Dean, what in the name of God have you done to me.” he gasps out loud, pushing his sweaty bangs off his forehead with a shaky hand. _And fuck, if that’s what having sex with a fantasy feels like,_ Castiel marvels _, then I'm glad I've saved himself for the real thing_.

"Soon Dean, soon..." he vows, stumbling weak-kneed towards the bathroom. "Soon I'll see if the real thing is as great as my imagination."

And he's willing to bet anything that Dean is.

 

 


	4. Take Me I'm Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, I can see that.” Castiel observes with obvious sarcasm, it’s a verbal slip and contrary to his plan, but he manages to keep the acid bite of his words from seeping into his tone and his remark succeeds in coming off as polite rather than bitchy. “Obviously your concern over my virtue is strictly professional, and not because you might be jealous over my past behavior or harbor any legitimate feelings towards me.” His expression remains blank but his words are undeniably clipped, terse. He plows on regardless, eager to tick off his own list of charges against Dean and his self-righteous bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more Dean/Cas pesky bickering to get out of the way. These two love to argue!  
> Chapt title from an amazing Squeeze song. Check it out, it says it all!  
> Thanks again for the kudos, reading and commenting!! You're all so wonderful!

“Novak.”

“…”

 _Fuck, not again._ “Mr. No-“

“Here.”

Dean’s eyes shoot up when he hears the telltale deep monotone of Castiel’s voice and immediately scans the back of the room for the source. He spots Castiel looking right back at him and notes with building dread, the boy’s steady and unblinking gaze focused squarely on him.

"Nice of you to join us." He greets Castiel civilly, because he's choosing to be the bigger person here and act, well...civilly.

He’s going for mature, composed, and totally in control, 'cause it’s not like he even has to try, right? It’s not like his heart seizes up the moment he catches Castiel’s eye. Or, he has to scramble for air when it starts up again, beating so fucking hard and so fucking fast Dean actually worries it might gallop right out of his aching chest and expose his pathetic crush on the teen for all his class to see. Right?

So yeah, Dean's gonna play it real cool and calm, all chill and relaxed and frosty like, because he’s totally got this.

"Take off your jacket and stay awhile." He adds with a cursory nod and a pained smile, feeling like a total dork and wishing like hell that the floor would just open up so he could dive in, head first, and put an end to his pathetic existence.

“…”

“Just friggin awesome.” he sighs to himself and goes back to the attendance sheet.

Unfortunately, thirty-five minutes later, he’s once again forced to address Castiel.

“Okay, stop your whining.” He yells over his student’s grumbling, trying to shush the outbreak of protests from all corners. “If you don’t learn these, you will all fail the final. I guarantee it.” he warns, referring to a specific group of equations they all need to know backwards and forwards if they hope to pass to the next level. “Now, Mr. Novak, here,” he announces, gesturing to the teenager with a tilt of his head. “Has kindly offered to take time out of his very busy social calendar and tutor any one of you that would like the extra help. So-“

Another outbreak of voices cut him off, this time accompanied with a smattering of hoots, fierce clapping, loud whistling, and more than a few shouts of _hells-yeah_.

Dean looks around his classroom, brow creased and lips pursed, fingertips rubbing at his aching temples, silently cursing himself for yet another miscalculation. _Fuck, does everyfuckingbody want a_ _piece of this kid?_ He wonders, but before he can put an end to his students' increasingly inappropriate comments, Castiel speaks up.

“I’ll be available from seven pm till, well, till…whenever, during the week, and from four pm till, again, whenever, Saturday and Sunday.” He informs them; face still blank, tone still indifferent. “Sign up, if you’re interested.” He adds, pulling out a blank sheet of paper and placing it on his desk.

This time, to Dean’s great dismay, the classroom’s reaction is even more sexually explicit.

_Oh, fuck no._

“Ah…no. That won’t be necessary Mr. Novak.” Dean protests, yelling over the din of scraping chairs and clamoring voices as most of the girls, and more than a few of the boys, race to sign the teen’s tutoring-form. “Everybody, back to your seat! Hey, I said now!”

The class eventually settles back down, no thanks to Castiel and his infuriatingly indifferent attitude to everything and everyone around him, a nonchalant air that only serves to make the teen even more irresistible to his classmates.

“Well, I’ll just pin this up, then.” he announces coolly and steps away from his desk. He walks casually over to the cork-board and pins the blank piece of paper smack dab in the middle of Dean’s announcements, lingering there longer than necessary so that every person already actively ogling him, gets a clear view of his magnificent ass.

“Ahhh…oomm...” Dean moan-whimpers, unable to stifle the pleading little sounds that bubble up his throat from such a tempting sight. “Okay then, thank you.” he eventually manages, throwing in a tight smile and even tighter nod to disguise his discomfort. But then quickly turns back to his blackboard when all he gets in return from Castiel is an unimpressed stare.

…

It’s half an hour later and the end of class, and just as the bell rings, Dean dares to look up again.

“Okay, tomorrow we’re tackling differentials and their applications to-” he hollers over the shrill ringing, only to be cut short, again, by an even louder chorus of boos and groans from his students as they gather up their supplies. “Look, it’ll be a piece of cake,” he assures them, scanning the room to make eye contact with the more vocal complainers. “Especially if you go over the math examples in chapters seven to thirteen. So…” he adds with excitement he doesn’t feel. “Make sure you understand the concept, because you never know when there might be a pop quiz, or two, on them.” he warns and steps around his desk, eyes glued to the room’s exit and zeroing in on one student’s movements in particular.

“Ah, Mr. Novak, a word, please.” He calls out, trying to get Castiel’s attention before he flies out the door.

Castiel freezes the instant he hears Dean say his name. He stops just inside the door, book bag slung over his shoulder, one hand gripping the strap, the other holding the elbow of a pretty brunette. _Meg_ _Masters._ He turns towards his teacher and they lock eyes, and without breaking eye contact, Castiel leans towards the girl and whispers something in her ear.

“Okay, but you owe me, angel.” She drawls, not bothering to keep her voice down. “See you later, baby.” She says and standing on her toes, presses a loud kiss on the boy’s cheek. She walks to the door, throws Dean an all-knowing smirk and yells, “Don’t keep Cassie out too late again, teach!”

Dean scowls at the pair, irritated by their shared intimacy and the girl’s effrontery, because who the fuck gave her the right to touch, let alone kiss, his boy!

 _Fuck! Not my boy!_ Dean reminds himself, cursing his wretched desire-fueled reflexes.

“On your way, Meg.” Dean tells her, scowl turning into an outright glower when she blows a kiss his way and cackles.

_God, I really dislike that girl._

“Mr. Novak.” Dean calls again when it’s finally just the two of them. “Castiel?” he tries a third time when the teen still hasn’t budged from his spot by the door. “In my office, please.” He says when Castiel starts to move.

Dean turns on his heel and heads to his private office; the small intimate space is more like a suite when compared to his coworker’s shoebox sized rooms. But they don’t begrudge him, Dean’s earned his loftier status.

After all, his rise to the top started at a very young age. Not only did he work his ass off doing three, sometimes as many as four jobs at a time to put himself through school, but his younger brothers as well. Dean worked night and day, for years, putting in long hours in his various classes, taking every available shift at his assorted jobs, interning for his professors, delving passionately into his chosen profession until inevitably becoming his field’s leading expert. And as a result, Dean’s course at the school consistently produces the nation’s most gifted college bound engineer-oriented students. This fact also helped boost his school’s ranking to a top tier institution, with only the most qualified teen’s accepted for enrollment.

As far as Castiel is concerned, these simple and irrefutable truths are yet more reasons to admire, laud, and love Dean Winchester,

Dean reaches his office and walks in, stopping just in front of his desk. When he turns and sees Castiel standing in the open doorway, he crooks his finger and motions for him to enter. "Oh, and close the door behind you…please.”

With an exaggerated put-upon exhale, Castiel shrugs and walks in, clicking the door shut once he’s inside. He makes his way towards his teacher, but stops several feet short from where Dean’s leaning against his desk. “Yes, Mr. Winchester?”

Dean immediately notices the change in the teen’s demeanor. Castiel's usually assertive – bordering on aggressive – and presumptuous behavior, is now standoffish and disinterested, as if he’s bored by Dean’s mere existence.

Dean snorts and shakes his head. _Well, this is what I wanted,_ he grudgingly admits, swallowing back the bitter taste of regret that suddenly fills his mouth and mentally kicking himself over his stupid pride. “Look, about the tutoring, I think it’s safe to say that not everyone who signed-up has honorable intentions towards you. I mean, I know for a fact that the majority of them are doing perfectly well.” he points out, gesturing to the sign-up sheet he grabbed from their classroom’s cork board, and more than a little astonished by its content.

“But I guess the opportunity to have, um, one-on-one time with you is too much to pass up.” he comments in regards to the rows and rows of student’s names covering it from margin to margin, some with hastily scribbled phone numbers and smiley-faces. But many, he notes, with a disturbing amount of sexual innuendos and pleas for Castiel’s attention.

“Hmph.” The boy hums in consideration and nods, expression closed off, still not giving anything away.

Dean rubs the back of his neck and shrugs apologetically, this time berating himself for even suggesting the idea. “Yeah, guess it’s kinda my fault really, putting you in this position, at their mercy, I mean. Heh, dream-come-true for them, but, ah, I’m guessing not so much for you or your boyfriend, huh?” He chuckles awkwardly, trying to lighten the suffocating mood currently circulating around them; it’s like a tempest, thick and heavy weighing the air down and stifling the flow of oxygen, making it difficult to breathe. For Dean, at least.

“Like I said earlier, it’s not a problem. I have no prior commitments.” Castiel explains with a shrug. “And besides, you’re the one that reminded me that _your_ students are also _my_ friends and that _I_ should take on a more active role in _their_ education, and that _I_ should-“

“What? No, I didn’t…” Dean objects, holding his hand up to stop Castiel mid sentence.”I mean…I only wanted you to, I don’t know, do more with your free time than to go out and…I don’t know. Look,” he offers feebly, trying to clarify his intentions without completely giving himself away or going back on his resolution. “I just figured that maybe if you had a goal, something more challenging to look forward to, then you wouldn’t feel the need to…pursue, um, unhealthy distractions.” _Like older men._ “Or go out so much.” _And screw around with every Tom, Dick, or Balthazar._

Castiel lowers his head and sighs heavily. “I really don’t see how that’s any of your concern, Mr. Winchester.” He replies stiffly.

 _Well I do!_ Dean wants to yell, but doesn’t. Instead, he takes a cautious step towards the teen, keeping in mind his earlier pledge to ignore any-and-all of his carnal impulses towards the youth. _Because I’m gonna be cool here, no more crushing on my underage student, goddammit. I’m acting here on his behalf, for his benefit. I’m totally looking out for him. This has nothing to do with my own desires!_

Yeah, that’s totally it.

So pushing past his blinding jealousy, Dean tries for nonchalance, but fails miserably with what he says next. “Well, it does concern me. I’m not too crazy with the idea of one of my students being cooped up with a bunch of degenerate teens all aiming to take a chunk outta you the moment they get you alone, Cas!” he all but shouts, railing angrily at the teenager, tone indignant, words full of outrage.

 _Sonofabitch!_ Dean winces. _‘_ Cause yeah, way to be smooth. _That little outburst didn’t make me come off like I’m an out of control possessive douche, at all!_

Castiel smirks inwardly, secretly pleased, insides jittery with excitement because, _yes_ , his ploy to get Dean Winchester to breakdown and acknowledge his true feelings for him is working out brilliantly. He lets Dean stew in the lava-flow of his emotions for a moment longer before moving ahead with his plan. Castiel knows they’re at a crucial turning point in their cat-and-mouse game, and that the outcome depends entirely on how he handles Dean’s reactions to the following provocations.

“Obviously, I’ve made you…uncomfortable. Again.” he replies, expression poker-face serious. “Please don’t waste your time worrying about me, I’m fully capable of handling even the handsiest of admirers.” He assures Dean, choosing his words carefully. He takes a step forward and stands almost, but not quite, in Dean’s personal space, eyes intense and unblinking, mouth soft, and with his relaxed posture and the low slope of his shoulders, the teen projects complete confidence in all that he’s saying.

For Dean, simply being in the teenager’s presence roots him to the spot, the boy mesmerizes him, enchants him, leaves him speechless, only capable of humming stupidly in reply.

“And, from here on out,” Castiel continues after a heavy silence, tone still neutral, body still exuding effortless calm. “I will limit my time with you to only the classroom, and cease…pursuing you, especially after you made it so painfully clear what a low opinion you have of me.” he states matter-of-fact, strategically throwing back Dean’s earlier slur, heightening the impact with a half smile, just the slightest curl of his lips. “I apologize for any discomfort and will…leave you alone.” He promises, but nevertheless takes another small step towards Dean, ever mindful to remain frustratingly out of arms reach.

Dean sways where he stands, thoroughly under Castiel’s spell, like a cobra held in place by the snake charmer’s hypnotic trance. “What, no!” he objects sluggishly, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “I don’t, I mean, I didn’t want you to…what do you mean ‘leave me alone?’”

“Leave you alone. Not bother you anymore. Stay out of your way. Out of your line of sight.” The teenager clicks off, replying in an infuriating conversational tone, yet inches nearer, taking an almost imperceptible step closer to his victim. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asks, tilting his head minutely to the side. “That I stay away.” he clarifies in a low husky whisper, looking up coyly through the thick fan of his lashes.

Castiel is standing tantalizingly close now, just within range, all Dean has to do is reach out with his arms and pull the boy towards him.

“I never, I mean, yeah the way you sometimes, I don’t know, make fun of me, gets under my skin.” Dean stammers, searching for the right words, thrown off kilter by the boy’s unexpected and softly delivered accusations. “But, you know, as long as you don’t shove your boyfriends in my face, it’s kinda rude, and I guess I don’t really like it.” he prattles on, voice shaky-as-shit, wondering where the hell his resolve to stay firm and resist the irresistible teen could have evaporated to. But he plods on, hoping his mindless rambling will keep his unintelligible answer just this side of vague and unclear enough to get through the rest of this awkward-as-fuck conversation and escape Castiel’s penetrating-as-fuck stare.

The teen just regards him with an impassive detachment, arms folded, finger tapping an impatient beat on his elbow. “Hmph, yes, I see. Yesterday’s interruption was rather unfortunate. But, you never let me explain, did you? You just blew up and…dismissed me. Will you let me explain now?” he asks, the question comes out soft and confidential, made even more intimate when he punctuates it with a seductive sigh.

“Yesss...” Dean sighs back, hopeless under the teen’s power, and by this point so far gone, he’s willing to agree to anything and everything Castiel suggests.

A small smile alights on the teen’s face, relieved that finally Dean will hear him out. “Dean,” he starts, tone firm but non-threatening. “The man that dropped me off yesterday, and then picked me up afterwards, is Gabriel, my brother. My brother.” He reiterates, moving one-step closer to the slack-jawed man.

“I’m sure you’re well aware of my feelings for you. I’ve never made them a secret.” He reminds Dean, voice dropping lower, the timbre dipping deeper, slinking nearer, eyes narrowing as he stresses this fact. “That I’ve only ever wanted you is common knowledge. And you have to believe me when I tell you that nothing, absolutely nothing too serious, has ever happened between me any of the others.” He helpfully adds, hoping this tiny detail will cushion the impact of his past indiscretions.

Dean hears Castiel’s words clearly but he’s having trouble wrapping his mind around their meaning. He’s in a lust-filled daze, attention rapt to Castiel's every move as the teen draws closer, all of his focus currently revolving around the growing bulge in his pants and the urgent need to grab the teen and rub up against him. But when the teenager’s explanation finally sinks in, its clear-cut implications snap him out of his stupor.

“Hold on!” He says sharply, rounding on the teen, love-struck-gaze evaporating and gone as if never there in the first place, quickly replaced with his usual grim and unforgiving expression. “That’s just it, Cas.” He snaps. “Others? Really? You mean to tell me ‘nothing too serious’ ever happened between you and any of them?” he argues, punctuating his disbelief with air-quotes and feeling ridiculous for even making the overly dramatic gesture, but he’s so swept up in the moment, he’s unable to help himself.

“Seriously like, what the hell does that even mean?” he prods. “Or should I ask, oh let’s see-” he wonders aloud, head tipping back, gaze drifting to the ceiling, fingertips stroking his chin as if in deep thought. “Oh yeah, that’s right!” he cries triumphantly, fingers snapping as the metaphorical light bulb goes on in his head. “How about we check with that douche, Balthazar? Or get Meg’s thoughts on your love-life?” He’s yelling now, incensed, spitting out the accusations with full on anger defining his words. “Remember Ion? Hanna ring a bell? Bartholomew, maybe?”

The list of names goes on and on, a damning collection of lovers that Dean’s had the misfortune, during the course of six months, to have noticed. And it would be funny if Dean wasn’t so consumed by it, but as it is, he’s counted each and every person Castiel has ‘dated’ since the boy first joined their school. And it infuriates him, makes it so he can’t stop his body from stepping closer, or his arm from rising and reaching out, fingers spreading, body buzzing with the need to hold Castiel, to grab and take him, erase from the boy’s body the touch of all others.

 _And then what? Replace it with my own touch? Brand him with my own marks?_ The sobering thought stops Dean dead in his tracks, and recalling his earlier vow to resist his insane attraction to the boy, drops his arm and balls his fist.

He inhales deeply and counts to ten. “I mean, not that I care.” He lies - recovering some of his equilibrium – it’s an unconvincing and pathetic attempt to save face, because bottom line, Dean’s still determined to preserve his dignity. _I still have pride, damn it!_ He stubbornly insists, even though a part of him recognizes it for the delusion it really is.

“Yes, I can see that.” Castiel observes with obvious sarcasm, it’s a verbal slip and contrary to his plan, but he manages to keep the acid bite of his words from seeping into his tone and his remark succeeds in coming off as polite rather than bitchy. “Obviously your concern over my virtue is strictly professional, and not because you might be jealous over my past behavior or harbor any legitimate feelings towards me.” His expression remains blank but his words are undeniably clipped, terse. He plows on regardless, eager to tick off his own list of charges against Dean and his self-righteous bullshit.

Dean feels himself flush, nervous with the direction Castiel is taking their discussion. “I…feelings?” he stutters, grappling to understand before the teen can go any further.

“Yes, feelings, Mr. Winchester, surely you remember what those are.” Castiel asserts, gasping in mock surprise when Dean only looks on with a baffled and stunned gape. “No?” he answers sharply, barreling on before Dean’s brain can register the dangerous turn in their conversation. “Well then, let me clarify it for you. Have you, Mr. Winchester, ever entertained romantic feelings towards me?”

Dean helplessly fish-mouths at the unexpected question and struggles to answer, but finds it exceedingly difficult to speak when his mouth dries up and his throat constricts from the unsettling blow. So he just stares, too numb, and frankly too taken aback to do much else, knowing full well that whatever excuse or explanation he dreams up, will only end up sounding too much like the lie it truly is.

But Castiel isn’t fooled or discouraged by Dean’s silence. “Perhaps you’ve suppressed a secret fondness for me, or a deep rooted affection?” He hedges, leaning dangerously close now, dipping his head down and biting his lower lip, reddening and plumping it prettily. “Have you ever had lustful thoughts about...us? Together? Or fantasized about things you would like to explore? With me?”

The rest of Castiels’s unsettling inquiry tapers off into an uncomfortable silence, and for a long stretched out moment neither man says anything more. That is until Castiel (eye still firmly fixed on his prize) chastises himself for the provocative teasing and deduces from Dean’s silence that the prudent thing for him to do next would be to harness his assault and proceed at a calmer, more lucid pace.

“Well, Mr. Winchester? Do you feel anything for me? Anything?” Castiel asks again, the angry tone in his voice surprises even him. “Or are your affections solely reserved for…Ms. Braedon?” _Damn it!_ he winces, that wasn’t at all what he was planning on saying, or how he intended to sound. _No, not at all._

He meant to revert to his stoic persona, shutter his eyes, and steer them towards the finish line. But instead, derails all of his hard wrought work with this ill-timed outburst. And he knows it. Knows it’s too late to take his words back. He’s utterly exposed himself, and now, with a multitude of cracks marring his neutral and composed façade, his only alternative is to beg Dean to understand and admit his own feelings about him.

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” Castiel insists. “I mean, I may have gone out on a few dates, but after I met you, I never…well, did much more than just, you know, PG-Rated stuff. And anyway,” he goes on, now with a defensive note to his words. “I only started dating again after I saw you with _her_ , and maybe got a little jealous and perhaps made some stupid decisions.” He confesses, eyes dropping in embarrassment over his pettiness.

Dean squints in confusion and frowns, shuffling his feet as he mulls over what Castiel just said. It's the boy’s jealousy that's throwing him off, it’s completely unexpected and something he never would have predicted. “Lisa? Hmph, yeah, nothing happening there,” he mutters mostly to himself, but then in an uncommonly kind gesture clarifies this simple truth for his distressed student’s benefit. "Just so you know, she and I…we’re just friends.” he states this clearly and without hesitation, quirking a brow and chuckling softly at the absurdity of it.

“But you two are always together. You share lunch every day.” Castiel counters. “And then I saw her get into your car a few months back and then yesterday you said you had a date with her and that you were eager to get to it-” he rambles on, eyes growing wide as he tries to grasp the truth behind Dean’s words.

Dean drops his head and clasps his hands, shoulders shaking with muffled laughter. But when he looks back up, he instantly sobers. It’s Castiel’s eyes. The wide blue orbs shining fierce and liquid and so full of…is that _hope_ , that Dean instantly weakens, and his resolve, tenuous at best, wavers, leaving him scrambling for the self-control he feels unraveling all around him.

He bites back his snarky comeback, sucks in a deep breath and contemplates, not for the first time, throwing caution to the wind and following through with his carnal desires.

“Look,” he starts then stops, exhaling sharply through his nose, stomping down what he was dangerously close to doing. What he’s been dying to do. But he doesn’t. Instead, he decides to take a moment to steel himself for what he knows is the right thing to do. That he must do. Because even though Dean’s entire body – heck, his whole fucking being – is screaming at him to give in and take what he wants, he refuses, determined to never surrender to the teen, or succumb to his own depravity.

But a man can only hold out for so long.

“Well, actually, Lisa and me,” he begins. “We’re ah…we’re only friends…now. And yeah, we hang out sometimes during and after work. But, ah…and yesterday what I said, I, um, might have said that because I was maybe also a little bit upset that you always had someone waiting for you.” he admits, face heating up from the confession, unconsciously taking one more bold step towards the boy. “I wasn’t too crazy thinking about you with anybody else either…Castiel.”

“W-why?” Castiel asks, the word slipping silently from his parted lips, eyes wide and expectant.

“Why?” Dean fires back, eyes narrowing as his brows knit together over the teen’s ridiculous question. _Especially when the answer is so fucking obvious._ “Because I do have feelings for you, goddamnit! Fuck!”

Dean can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, the raw honesty, the fucking frankness – and he likes it – speaking his mind, spilling his guts, it’s fucking liberating. And that right there, paired with the brightening of the teenager’s features, the way Castiel's posture visibly eases, as if the colossal weight of his uncertainty has magically lifted, motivates Dean to press on and no longer hold back.

“That clear things up for you, any? Now do you get why I can’t fucking stand seeing you with anybody else? Because I don’t. Not one little bit, man. And I…just, can’t anymore, okay? I didn’t like the fact that some other guy or girl…men, Cas, fucking adults, actually got to touch you!” he growls, voice rising, nostrils flaring, chest heaving, incensed, losing his temper when images of the teen being fondled by hands that aren’t his, flash through his fevered mind.

And dammit he didn’t want to lose control like this, but he's dangerously close to his breaking point, feels it in his simmering blood and his churning gut, and he needs to do…something.

Castiel sucks in a sharp breath and braces himself, fearing his knees might give out any second after witnessing Dean’s shocking outburst, his glorious admission. But eventually manages to steady himself enough to present as cool a front as he can manage given the dramatic circumstances. But he can’t help the tremor in his voice or the slight trembling of his hands as he watches Dean, in slack-jawed fascination, tear down the barriers that separate them, thrilled beyond measure as the walls come crumbling down until it’s finally just the two of them left to sift through the rubble.

 _Yes_ , _we’re finally getting somewhere,_ he thinks, but he holds his ground, heart beating a frantic rhythm in his chest as Dean unravels with jealousy over _him_. It’s all Castiel can do to keep from throwing himself at the older man and declaring his undying love and devotion.

But Castiel’s no fool, he realizes that his own loss of control is what hastened Dean’s revelation, and that now, more than ever, he needs to keep a clear head. After all, he’s going for broke here and in no way going to unwittingly do anything that will jeopardize ‘Operation-Reverse-Psychology’ by prematurely declaring it a victory.

Therefore, after witnessing Dean’s very animated freak-out over his past relationships, the teenager wisely decides to alter his strategy; from this point on, he will not rein in his emotions or suppress them. No, from now on he will bare all, every honest-to-god feeling he has for his teacher, put them all out there for Dean to study, dissect, crush or embrace.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel apologizes, eyes downcast, sucking on that damned bottom lip. “About…everything. I didn’t mean to upset you. Perhaps it’s best if I just left.” He suggests hesitantly. But instead of turning to leave, moves closer, stopping only a few inches from Dean’s personal-space bubble, close enough for the older man to see the tears welling in his eyes, the high flush tingeing his cheeks, and the slight trembling of his bottom lip. “I only wish things could have been different. That I had known sooner how you really feel.” He adds regretfully, not bothering to hide the slight quiver in his voice or the hitch in his breath.

Dean’s taken aback, fucking flabbergasted by Castiel’s quiet dismissal of his tirade, not a hint of a challenge or a note of indignation forthcoming, if the boy’s downcast expression is anything to go by. But it’s the teenager’s uncharacteristic display of raw honest sorrow, his words stripped of all pretense, and his regret over Dean’s hurt-feelings, that’s truly stunning.

Up until now, their relationship had been one of a mutual give and take, an unspoken understanding where Dean is the stubborn irrational prick to Castiel’s infuriatingly overconfident confrontational dick. That the teen now chooses to react contrary to all of his previous incarnations confuses Dean, and he flounders, unsure of his own reactions.

_The fuck?_

He feels as if he’s lost his footing in this whole scenario and fallen way out of character in thier ridiculous script. So gathering his wits about him, Dean decides to take back control of this preposterous conversation – as if he ever had any in the first place – and moves in for the attack. He will berate the teen, rant and rage over whatever injustices he’s been subjected to, legitimate or imaginary, because of this insufferable boy.

But then a single tear slides down Castiel’s cheek and Dean breaks, body physically deflating and he surrenders. And just like that, the realization that he is truly and unequivocally fucked, head-over-heels in love, and way over his head, leaves him gasping for air. His throat closes up and his head spins, heart beating furiously in the confines of his too tight chest, palms clammy, stomach doing funny little flip-flops. He’s so screwed.

There’s no room for lashing out now, no space for harsh words anymore. His body moves on automatic and lurches towards Castiel, closes the last remaining inches that separates them, wraps his fingers around the teenager’s softly defined biceps, and yanks him forward.

“You-“ Dean hisses, grunting the word like an accusation. “I…” he croaks, throat dry, mind reeling, unable to form coherent sentences let alone fully process the magnitude of what he’s about to do.

What he’s been dying to do.

What he needs to do.

And what he now believes, the boy wants as well.

He slowly lifts a hand to Castiel’s face, and with extreme care and painstaking gentleness, traces the tear’s glisten trail with the pad of his thumb. He’s panting, short shallow breaths, words are beyond him, he pushes aside any lingering doubts, boldly leans forward and licks away the fat saline drop hanging provocatively on the sharp cut of the adolescent’s jaw.

He moans, savoring the sweet-salty tang that coats his tongue, groaning from the incredible taste, from the unbelievable warmth that radiates from the teenager’s skin, the softness against his lips, and smiles; the boy is even more delectable than Dean could have ever imagined.

And he finally gets it, finally believes that Castiel wants him too, if the boy’s iron-like grip on his hips and his own sighs and whimpers are anything to go by. Yeah, Dean may never understand it, but at least now he’s willing to accept it as fact, and no longer believes that teen’s affections for him are a joke or a cruel trick at his own expense.

“Cas…” Dean says, not sure if he’s about to beg or grovel, only positive that he’s terrified; there are so many reasons this could be his worst decision ever, and only one assuring him that it will be his greatest.

He lowers his head, angling it closer to the teen’s. “So-“ he starts, exhaling the word on a long shaky breath, forehead pressed lightly against Castiel’s. “I, ah, kinda need to hear that you’re really on board with all of this.” He says, gesturing with a sweep of his hand, eyes darting up to meet Castiel’s. He swallows down his dread and waits, all the while luxuriating in their closeness, brushing the tip of his strong angular nose against the straight pertness of Castiel’s, parting his lips to breathe in the other’s exhales, anticipating, aching, wanting, hoping the permission he needs will be in the teenager’s response.

Castiel doesn’t make him wait long.

“Yesss…” is his immediate reply, lengthening the single syllable on a heated exhale, staring back at Dean with eyes so lust blown they’re almost black, only a ring of blue outlining the iris.

“Yes?” Dean sighs back and stills; he doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink, stands stock-still, frozen in place by the hunger in Castiel’s eyes and the heated puffs of air from his open mouth. He's unsteady on his legs, feels like he might fall, as if his mind, body, and soul are plummeting into the glorious depths and monumental impact of the boy’s life altering answer.

Dean's resolve crumbles and he finally gives in, gladly surrenders to his wants and desires...to Castiel.

So no longer caring to hold back, he dives, head first, into the fiery depths of his damnation, and figures since he's already going to hell, he's going to make damn sure it'll be worth both their whiles. 


	5. Slow Dive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He grabs the teenager roughly, lips crashing, teeth clanking, kisses Castiel like he’s been starving for him, which in all truth, he has, for ages now. Dean’s ravenous and his hunger makes him aggressive, his actions brutal, his grip more than a little painful, but he doesn’t hesitate because he knows it's what they've both been craving. And besides, there will be enough time later for tenderness, for a warm embrace and a gentle caress. But for now, and once this initial fire between them has been smothered, he will ravage the boy, gorge on his lusciousness until they’re both fat and sated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Thought we'd never get here! So, dear readers, without further ado, I give you sweet-finger-lickin-good Destiel porn.  
> Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!!  
> Song title from Siouxsie and the Banshees. This band is super hot and sexy! Check them out if you get a chance.

To say Dean’s dreamed about this moment since he first met Castiel, would be an understatement. Being with Castiel carnally, bonding with him intimately, joining with him sexually, has been his go-to spank-bank material since the first day they met. In fact, not a single a day has gone by, since that first fateful meeting, that Dean hasn’t masturbated to one or more of the x-rated fantasies he's concocted, involving himself and the boy.

He’s taken Castiel from behind, from the side, on all fours, bounced him on his lap, fucked him on the hood of his car, thrust into him against a wall. Heck, Dean’s even imagined sucking Castiel off while the teen hangs suspended from a swing and his dick slips in and out of Dean's mouth in time with the swing’s momentum.

But this is no fantasy. And Castiel's life-altering answer was all the permission Dean needed to make his dreams, reality.

So now, with their walls finally down and their souls thoroughly bared, far removed from uncertainty and fear, Dean lunges, and with steadfast determination marches towards his future.

...

He grabs the teenager roughly, lips crashing, teeth clanking, kisses Castiel like he’s been starving for him, which in all truth, he has, for ages now. Dean’s ravenous and his hunger makes him aggressive, his actions brutal, his grip more than a little painful, but he doesn’t hesitate because he knows it's what they've both been craving. And besides, there will be enough time later for tenderness, for a warm embrace and a gentle caress. But for now, and once this initial fire between them has been smothered, he will ravage the boy, gorge on his lusciousness until they’re both fat and sated.

Yes, now that the floodgates have opened, Dean’s going to allow himself… _this_. He will take and have this boy. He will claim and mark and own him, make it his life’s mission to ruin Castiel, utterly, for all future lovers. Not that Dean will ever allow that. No, now that he finally has Castiel in his arms, Dean doubts he will ever willingly let him go.

Darting in quickly, Dean snatches that _damn_ bottom lip, sucks it in between his teeth and clamps down hard, cruelly licking and pulling on the plump flesh until it’s red, swollen, and wet from his attack. He pushes his tongue into Castiels’s mouth, slipping and sliding his way in while his fingers wrap around Castiel’s nape and pulls him closer, deepening their kisses, melding their bodies.

Both men gasp, overwhelmed by their mutual passion. And even though Dean’s the supposed ‘aggressor’ in their twisted relationship – his bigger bulkier build easily overpowering the seventeen year olds slighter frame – Castiel gives as good as he gets. He opens up willingly to Dean’s impassioned demands, sighs sensuously into his mouth, drags his tongue across Dean's stubbled jaw, peppers his neck with kisses, rolls his hips against Dean’s groin and spreads his thighs, creating the perfect cradle for Dean to thrust into.

“Fuck-“ Dean groans breathlessly then pulls back to take a deep gulp of air. "So good…so perfect…” he murmurs into the softness of Castiel’s hair. Then dropping his hands, grabs hold of Castiel’s hips, spins the teenager around and pins him against the front of his desk. “Want you…” he says softly against the boy’s cheek. “You're mine, Cas-" he breathes into the teen’s neck, scraping his teeth over the rapid beat of Castiel’s pulse.

“Y-yes…yours, Dean-“ Castiel agrees, ass resting on the desk’s edge, arms coming up to wrap around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him in, fingers digging into the flexing muscles of Dean’s back. “Always…always yours…need you…always-” He swears, mouthing his promises against Dean’s lips.

Dean can’t help the growl that slips past his lips after hearing those words, the throaty vibration rumbles up unexpectedly from deep within his chest, pleased beyond measure over the teen’s eager submission. He moves his hands from Castiel’s hips and rests them on the boy’s ass, squeezes the firm muscles so hard, Castiel yelps, but before he can retaliate, Dean inexplicably pulls back.

“Wha-“ Castiel whimpers, a mournful little mewl when he finds himself suddenly empty handed. He grips the desk’s edge for support, knuckles turning white from his building frustration. “Get back here!” he orders, staring daggers at Dean’s retreating back. But Dean doesn’t stop, and all Castiel can do is watch helplessly as his teacher stumbles and staggers drunkenly towards the room’s closed door.

“Heh, eager much, Cas?” Dean chuckles evilly, head turning so he can look over his shoulder and toss the pissed off boy a suggestive smirk and a wicked wink.

When Dean gets to the door, he reaches for the knob. Castiel’s jaw drops, along with his stomach, certain that Dean’s come to his senses and is about to flee.

Dean grabs the doorknob and Castiel’s heart stops, all hope lost in that one agonizing moment. But when he realizes that Dean is simply, and _smartly,_ clicking the lock in place and pulling down the small window’s shade, he collapses in relief, leans heavily against his teacher’s desk and exhales, a loud whoosh of air he didn’t realize he was holding.

Dean leans back against the now locked door, arms folded across his chest, tongue poking out to moisten his lips. He doesn’t say a word, just takes his time to undress the reclining boy with his eyes, gaze darkening from his building arousal. And within one blink and the next, he crosses the room, rushing towards Castiel in long steady strides until their bodies are pressed flush against the other’s, complete contact from chest to thigh.

“Better?” he asks, the words hot against Castiel’s skin, eyes half-lidded as they feast on the teen’s upturned face; the hunger in Castiel’s eyes a mirror to Dean’s own.

"Getting there.” The boy retorts cheekily, biting down temptingly on his abused bottom lip and with a soft grunt, pushes off his teacher’s desk and surges for Dean’s mouth.

Castiel’s attack knocks the breath out of Dean, but the older man recovers quickly and accepts the kiss hungrily, capturing Castiel’s mouth with a degree of enthusiasm that rivals that of the teen’s, tongues curling and tangling, slippery muscles sucking sloppily on one another; it’s filthy and desperate and fucking perfect.

Dean’s hands roam freely over the boy’s arms and across his back, he drops them lower to cup Castiel's ass, then thrusting forward, gyrates dirtily against the teen's crotch.

“Dean…” Castiel breathes, voice raspy rough, gasping for air and breaks the kiss. He places both hands on either side of Dean’s head and pulls back, barely an inch, but he needs to see Dean’s face, to search his eyes, to trust this is really happening – greatly gratified when he sees his own naked longing staring right back at him through Dean’s lust-filled gaze.

“Wha-?” Dean whispers softly, expression dreamy, eyes fluttering, feeling as if he’s just woken from a wonderful dream. “What is it, baby?” he asks, the endearment rolls off his tongue with ease, feeling so fucking ‘right’ and so fucking natural, the sudden elation that grips his heart and sets it soaring, momentarily takes him by surprise.

“You okay, Cas? Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” He asks sweetly, leaning in to press a wet kiss on Castiel’s cheek. “Hm?” he hums, nuzzling against the teen’s temple. Then, pressing their lower bodies closer, slides his hand around the small of Castiel’s back and thrusts into him, a slow roll of his hips that grinds his hard-as-fuck-erection against the boy’s thigh. “What...do…you...want?” he asks again, punctuating each word with a quick snap of his hips.

But he really doesn't expect a reply, knowing just by touch that the writhing creature in his arms is beyond words. "Gotta speak up, baby." He teases, and needing to feel the teenager's skin, rucks Castiel’s t-shirt and runs his fingers gingerly across the warm silky flesh of the boy’s waist.

“I-I…want-” Castiel barely manages, breaking out in goose-flesh, melting into Dean’s touch. He wants so much. Starting with Dean. How much he needs him. How much he loves him. But right now all he can focus on is the urgent need for more friction. So he wriggles in Dean’s arms, pivots his hips just so, juts his pelvis up and off center, angles his groin just right…and… _oh yeah, right there!_

“Want what, baby?” Dean coos, tightening his grip on the slippery boy. “Bet I already know, though.” He smirks, because he does know, all too well in fact, what Castiel is after. And as luck would have it, it’s also what Dean’s after: mutual gratification. So he swivels his lower body until their clothed erections are pressed together, then with a twist and a half-roll of his hips, starts rubbing deliciously against the teenager.

“Umph…” Castiel gasps.

“Fuck-“ Dean groans.

They’re both breathing heavily now, grinding and rutting with abandon, bodies slotting together, dicks catching and dragging against the other’s, the heat and pressure exquisite.

“Like that…huh?” Dean puffs out, smug tone evident even though he’s short of breath, then further stuns Castiel when he yanks the teenager’s t-shirt up and off.

“…Y-yesss-“ Castiel stutters, the answer torn out of him with a startled gasp, sounding more like an embarrassingly high pitched yelp rather than the deep seductive purr he had intended.

Dean grunts in approval, relishing all of Castiel’s sweet little sounds and the lovely way the boy’s body squirms in his arms. “Yeah, figured you would.” He answers cockily, reaching around to wrap Castiel tighter in his arms and pull him closer. He runs his hands over the full expanse of the teen’s back, down the length of his sides, fingers dipping up and over each rib, finally settling on the boy’s hipbones. "Jesus, Cas…” he says, not bothering to mask the awe in his voice, honestly awestruck by the teenager's hot-as-fuck body. He rests his thumbs over the sharp juts of bone, spreads his fingers under the teenager’s waistband, and squeezes. Hard.

“Dean!” Castiel yelps again, slapping Dean on the shoulder for his brutish manhandling – but secretly loving every painful grasp, possessive grip, and rough caress.

Dean snorts and loosens his hold, but only to gently nudge Castiel back and coax him to lay flat on the desk’s surface. “Gorgeous.” He mouths, unable to produce any sound when he takes in the decadent expanse of flawless skin.

He steps forward, right between the boy’s legs – as is his right – bends at the waist and kisses Castiel, a hungry open-mouthed, no-hold-bars, ravaging that leaves them both winded. When he pulls back he braces both hands on either side of the teen’s head and starts working his way down, starting from the boy’s kiss-swollen lips towards his naval, lovingly following that trail until he gets to Castiel's shoulder, pausing to lap at the divot where neck meets clavicle. He runs his tongue along the sharp outline of the teenager’s collarbone, dragging the wet tip towards his dusky nipples, stopping to take a slow sweet moment to suckle and tease at them, not moving on until the nubs are standing high and hard above the smooth planes of the boy’s chest.

Castiel wiggles and bucks, wrestles for a better angle, not content until he’s wrapped his legs around his teacher’s back. He arcs and thrusts up, searching for relief for his trapped cock, shamelessly humping Dean’s chest, moaning in delight when he manages to brush satisfactorily against Dean’s body.

The obscene thump, thump, thumping of the teenager’s clothed dick against Dean's sternum is not something the older man will soon forget. If ever. But it doesn’t stop Dean and he doesn’t veer from his goal, just eases lower, nipping and sucking his way down, fingers spreading wide and possessive along the teen’s sides, digging and denting the firm flesh of Castiel's hips and ass and thighs.

He stops again when he's hovering over Castiel’s stomach, drops his head and presses his face there, nose flush against the boy’s taut belly. Dean inhales, takes a deep greedy drink of the warm fragrant skin and shivers from the chills that race up and down his spine. He exhales; the long heated rush of air rustles the fine hairs that line a path towards Castiel’s groin. “God help me.” he mumbles into the boy’s skin, pressing kiss after moist kiss over the entire area before pulling away so that he can finish undressing him.

Still leaning over Castiel, Dean grabs hold of the teen's ass and pulls him closer to the desk’s edge. Then straightening, takes hold of Castiel’s legs and hikes them higher, resting them on his shoulders. Dean’s fingers skitter back towards Castiel’s hips, he means to start removing the boy’s pants but his momentum’s derailed when he spies the large bulge straining against the confines of the teen’s stupidly tight, low-cut jeans. He sucks in a breath and licks his lips, reaches out with a surprisingly steady hand and presses his cupped palm along the outline of the teenager’s erection, stroking it reverently before giving it a gentle squeeze.

Castiel whimpers and whines from Dean’s touch, but the more Dean fondles him the more his sobs turn into outright wails, loud uninhibited pleas for mercy.

Dean looks up when he hears the muffled thud of the boy’s head hitting the surface of his desk, and he smiles, it’s everything he’s ever wanted, Castiel unraveling because of _him_ , because of his ministrations. Dean couldn’t have asked for a better student.

Dean’s own reaction to the boy’s frenzied display is no less heated; his mouth waters and his belly pools with lust, arousal skyrocketing as the boy thrusts into his hand.

He shifts awkwardly and winces in discomfort from the excessive tightness in his own pants; he’s in dire need of relief and if he doesn’t do something _right the fuck now_ , he’s afraid his balls will explode. So without wasting anymore time, he rushes to undo his own fly, snakes a hand inside his briefs, pulls out his dick, and gives it a few lazy pulls until he feels stable enough to continue.

“So fucking hot, Cas…,” he sighs quietly, but still loud enough for Castiel to hear the admiration in his voice. “Fucking beautiful for me-“ he croaks, voice cracking and body shuddering, skin tingling with anticipation, he needs to calm himself now, or risk cumming before he even gets the boy fully naked.

He closes his eyes, takes a few more grounding breaths – hand still tugging languidly at his shaft – willing his excitement to abate. But it’s torture; Castiel, laid out before him, pliant, needy, and Dean’s to use as he pleases, is torture: sweet, delicious, heart-stopping torture.

After a few more head-clearing breaths, and confident he’s not about to cum in his briefs, Dean reaches out and undoes Castiel’s belt buckle, and with a practiced flick of his wrist, unsnaps the boy’s jeans and pulls the zipper down.

Castiel looks up when he feels Dean’s impatient pawing at his crotch, momentarily mesmerized when he catches sight of his teacher’s fingers trembling as he struggles to open his fly. But he can’t fault Dean for his overexcited state. Not really, especially since he’s just as anxious, if not more so, to have Dean wrap his beautiful bow shaped lips around his cock.

 _And fuck, that mental image is enough to make him cum right_ _then and there._

He grunts in frustration, because this needs to move along at a faster pace, or else...

So with a sexy little wiggle of his ass, Castiel helps Dean by shimmying out of his pants.

Dean _does not_ whimper at the erotic display, and his eyes _absolutely do not_ roll to the back of his head from the headiness of it all. But he definitely bites down on his lip, and it’s only a heartbeat later that he’s pressing his face against the thin layer of cotton that separates his mouth from the boy’s shaft, and only seconds after that he’s shamelessly mouthing at the obscene tent in Castiel’s briefs, tongue licking a long wet line along its length, dampening the fabric.

“Mmmm…Cas…” he breathes, face softly rubbing back and forth across the teenager’s erection. “Fucking want you…” he says again, all of his filters gone now that he can freely speak his mind, lovingly nuzzling the boy’s groin.

Dean wants Castiel. No big surprise there. But truth be told, what Dean truly feels for the boy surpasses _mere_ want. And if he’s being completely honest, and he finally is, Dean will admit that deep down what he feels for Castiel Novak, is simple unadulterated _need,_ right down to his very core, to his very soul.

At this point, it’s a bone deep addiction, an all consuming desire to own the boy, and in turn, be owned by him; a debilitating ache that easily transcends mere want.

Some might even it call it love. Dean certainly does.

“…need you-“ Dean utters brokenly, desperate for Castiel to grasp the enormity of this declaration. “Mmmm…baby, so fucking much. Need you, so much, Cas.” He mumbles against the now sopping wet patch across Castiel’s ruined briefs, feeling lighter than he has in months now that he can finally admit the full extent of his feelings for the teenager.

Castiel’s a writhing mess throughout, but briefly tenses at Dean’s confession. “Dean-“ he sighs softly in reply and his body quickly loses its rigidity. But his new found peace of mind isn’t entirely due to Dean’s exceptionally talented hands and mouth, but also because of _this_ admission, because Dean has accepted his feelings and is willing to share them.

“Please-“ Castiel begs. “Dean…Dean…“ he moans over and over, reaching out with unsteady hands to card shaky fingers roughly through Dean’s hair, grabbing handfuls of the longer strands to guide his lover’s head right where he wants it. “Please…umph, fuck me…D-Dean…” he beseeches, his pleas desperate and urgent.

And yeah, okay, Dean’s more than willing to comply, especially for something he’s been aching to do for far too long. “Yeah…okay, baby, gonna take real good care of you.” he whispers soothingly, then without further ado, dips his fingers under Castiel’s waistband and pulls the teenager’s underwear off, tossing them carelessly over his shoulder and well out of sight.

Castiel sucks in a sharp breath; the blast of cool air hitting his overheated cock makes him break out in goose flesh. He scrambles to sit up, but finds he can’t, Dean’s large hands planted firmly on either side of his hips force him to keep down and hold still. He lifts his head instead, and groans, because staring right back at him from between his spread thighs is Dean, his teacher, his lover, eyes dark with desire, mouth open and hovering right over the tip of his dick, his intention to take Castiel into his mouth, loud and clear.

“Dean,” Castiel whines, loosening his hold on Dean’s head to cradle it in a loose grip. “Stop teasing-“ he growls, growing impatient. He bites down on his bottom lip trying to stifle his whimpering and cover his desperation, but to Dean’s delight, the teen easily gives himself away when his grip tightens and he lets loose with string of curses and pleas.

Dean doesn’t budge but smiles widely, _because who knew he had a ‘begging-kink’ too_ , and makes a mental note to add it to his list of turn-ons. “I’m just getting started, Cas.” He says ominously, and Castiel knows from Dean’s tone and the look in his eyes, that his torment is just beginning.

And he’s not wrong; Dean’s going to draw out their foreplay, he wants the boy to taste his pleasure and feel his pain. And with his smoldering gaze fixed firmly on the teen, Dean pokes his tongue out (long pink tip fully extending towards the teen’s cock-head) and flicks it.

“F-fuck me!” the boy cries out, body jack-knifing, head slamming, again, against the desk’s hard surface.

Dean stabs repeatedly at the boy’s leaking tip. _Flick, flick, lap._

“Dean…for god’s sake…please…”

_Flick, lap, slurp, tongue swirl._

Castiel’s hips jerk upwards, unable to control his body’s reactions to Dean’s special brand of torture. He grunts and groans, hips thrusting, dick butting against Dean’s lips, unmindful and uncaring of the death grip he’s got on Dean’s head.

“Like that, baby?” Dean teases. “How about this?” he asks with feigned innocence then opens his mouth, lowers his head and swallows Castiel down, down, down, stopping only when his nose is pressed flush against the teen’s wirey curls.

“Gnumph! Je-Jesus!”

Dean hums around a mouthful of cock, then pulls off with an exaggerated slurpy pop. “I’ll take that as a yes.” he says triumphantly, words thick and guttural. He latches on again, wraps his lips around the teen’s length, drops kisses on the tip, prods the slit with his tongue; Castiel’s resulting mewls and whimpers fuel his already overexcited libido and overflowing passion for the boy.

He’s got one hand wrapped around Castiel’s shaft, lips meeting his fist with each consecutive flick of his wrist, building up a steady rhythm, fully focused on getting the boy off, but also on savoring the moment, on appreciating the simple fact that he can do _this_. That he’s finally allowed.

“Fuck…“ Dean murmurs, head bobbing, eyes hooded, he relaxes his throat and takes Castiel deeper, suction powerful and relentless, Dean could live off the teen’s emissions; the taste and warmth filling his mouth. He exhales and swallows, the action drags Castiel’s dick towards the back of his throat and he gags, eyes watering as he chokes on the boy; the resulting river of Dean's spit and Castiel's pre-cum that spills from between Dean's lips, leaves the teen's hole thoroughly drenched.

He moves his other hand from the boy’s balls and glides it gingerly between Castiel’s spit-slicked cleft. “Mphttt-“ he grunts, ready to burst when his fingers walk across the slippery searing heat of Castiel’s perineum. He gently presses a fingertip over the clenched pucker and uses the calloused pad to rub slow tantalizing circles around the spit-lubed rim, mouth still sucking hungrily, never letting up.

“Dean…umpht…” Castiel chokes out and pushes down, jerks back up, then presses down again, bouncing shamelessly against Dean’s teasing digit, eager for penetration. “Come on…” he urges with a roll of his hips.

Castiel’s uninhibited gyrations are quite possibly the hottest thing Dean’s ever witnessed, and definitely more than he can take; he honestly can’t believe he’s lasted this long.

 _To hell with holding back_. He scoffs. _And I've drawn out this goddamn teasing long enough._ He concludes.

And with those thoughts in mind, foreplay is officially over and Dean finally gives in to the teen’s demands.

He pushes a soaked finger in, just the tip, gingerly testing the give of the tightly clenched muscle, before slipping it in further.

“Argh…yessss-“ Castiel hisses pivoting his hips down, forcing the finger deeper.

_Okay, wow!_

Now it’s Dean’s turn to stifle his moans, because holy shit, _that right there,_ Castiel’s blissed out intensity, coupled with all of the delicious little sounds coming out of his pretty mouth, just about does Dean in. And if he starts prepping the boy at a swifter pace than he normally would, well then, it’s not like Castiel is complaining, or like Dean can even help it at this point.

_Because seriously, wow._

He hastily inserts a second finger, quickly followed by a third. Pumps them in and out and in and out, scissoring Castiel’s entrance in a steady rapid rhythm – Dean’s hand is a blur of motion as he finger-fucks the teen’s loosening hole.

Castiel grits his teeth at the painful intrusion and his hips stutter; his smooth tempo becomes erratic and he falters, mouth slack and gaping, breath catching in his throat, sucking in short shallow breaths, cock hard and slippery in Dean’s fist. It’s filthy and sinful and fucking glorious but before his mind can wrap around the sheer blessed bliss of Dean's enthusiastic efforts, Dean crooks his fingers and an electrifying jolt of pure pleasure shoots through his body...and he cums.

“Ooomph!” Castiel’s grunts, back curving at a dramatic angle when his orgasm crests, crashing over him like a tidal wave. “Ungh…grah!” he sputters, voice breaking, words gibberish, hips slowly pulsing on Dean’s fingers, hole spasming, dick jerking as warm semen shoots out and lands on Dean’s cheek, on his outstretched tongue, spilling over his fist.

Dean delicately eases his fingers out, but only after he’s sure Castiel is emptied, then slowly and carefully, slides two back in, mindful of how sensitive the teenager’s entrance must be after his intense climax and Dean's aggressive reaming.

He flexes them open, gently scissors the boy’s hole to loosen him further. “Fuck…so fucking gorgeous, baby.” Dean whispers, exhaling the raspy-soft words against the rounded swell of the boy’s ass, eyes riveted to Castiel’s puffy pucker. He licks his lips and leans in, spreads the fingers still buried in the teen’s opening, and forces Castiel’s hole to stretch wider. He moans softly at the thoroughly pornographic sight then slips his tongue in, shoving it as deep and as far as he can, pulling it out to lap around the rim, then rams it back in, again and again, all the while holding the squirming boy, one-handed, by the hips, until he’s had his fill.

But he doesn’t linger too long, because even though now is definitely the time, his tiny office is most certainly not the place. So only a short while later, Dean reluctantly pulls away, smacks his lips dramatically and licks his fingers clean. “Dee-fuckin-licious!” he declares with great relish and climbs to his feet.

He leans between Castiel’s splayed legs, hips nestled snuggly between the teen’s thickly muscled thighs, and gently reinserts his fingers, pushes them in and out in quick, short pulses, smearing Castiels’ entrance with a generous mixture of his own spit and the teen’s release.

“Dean…” Castiel croaks, voice hoarse, gritty from his earlier straining. “Dean…Dean…” he says over and over, this time the words fall from his lips on a soft sigh, the volume low and hushed, deep and quiet, mouthing his lover’s name with the utmost reverence, with awe, with love, too spent and too weak to do much more.

Dean bends and kisses him, one hand still working between Castiel’s legs, the other busy fishing out a packet of lube and a condom from his wallet. He pulls away but only far enough to push his pants lower and only long enough to tear open the condom wrapper, lubricate Castiel, and roll on the condom.

He stands between Castiel’s thighs, both hands now pinching and kneading the tender inner flesh, his own dick hanging fat and heavy between his legs; Dean is beyond fucking ready.

He takes himself in hand and gives the base a tight squeeze, lines himself up with the boy’s pink pucker and places the blunt end right against it, prodding and pressing against the springy flesh without breaching. “Ready?” he asks, his voice cracks and the word slips out broken, but he has to make sure, needs to hear the words, get the boy’s permission.

“Yes…Dean…”

_Yes!_

And then he’s pushing in, slowly, gently, mind whiting out when the tip finally pushes past the tight clench, relishing the heat and incredible pressure that immediately surrounds him.

 _Mine,_ and _finally,_ and _take._ All these thoughts race through his mind as he inches forward, eyes fixed on the teen’s face, breath hitching in tune with the boy’s shaky exhales, his own body shivers. He’s been teetering on the edge of… something, for so long now, endured months of heartache and insomnia-inducied-stress, over this boy. This maddening, bullheaded, foolhardy, relentless, force of nature, that stormed into Dean’s life six months ago and figuratively swept him off his feet. He stalls for a second, just a beat in time, needing the brief pause to curb his flooding emotions lest they overwhelm him as he processes the enormity of this moment and the symbolic solidifying of their bond.

“Dean-“ Castiel growls through clenched teeth, straining to speak from the exertion. “Move…damn it, come on!”

And fuck it all if Castiel’s petulant little pout and gruff pushy demands don’t do all kinds of things to Dean’s will. And in one smooth slick thrust, he bottoms out, curls his fingers around the boy’s hips, and grinds deliciously in place. He tips his head back and exhales, pulse heavy, deafening in his ears. It’s all white noise from then on, the bone deep satisfaction of being buried inside the teenager’s perfect ass, both of them drowning in an all-consuming, single-minded, crippling passion for the other, sets him off to a punishing pace.

“Gah-“ and “Umph-“ these guttural grunts shared between them coupled with an endless stream of muffled curses, punctuate the wet sloppy sounds of skin slapping against naked skin, in the otherwise silent room. Dean pounds away, working up to a steady rhythm, sweat gathering at his temples and between his shoulder blades, and with each successive thrust his pants slide further down his thighs until they're nothing but a puddle of fabric around his ankles.

He hooks his arms under Castiel’s sweat slicked thighs and leans over, pressing the teenager’s thighs flat against his chest. He rocks forward, rolls his hips and starts slamming mercilessly into the boy with sharp even snaps, _and_ _oh fucking god_ , the sensations and the delicious burn have Dean quickly losing control, gasping for air, groping for words.

He drops his head lower and slots his lips against Castiel's, capturing him in a breathless kiss, a brief meeting of mouths. He bends even lower, easily folds the seventeen year olds limber body in half, tongue stretching out to lap at the boy’s nipple, suck it into his mouth, roll it between his teeth, and doesn't stop until the teen is whimpering and begging for mercy.

“S-so…“ he slurs, mind blurring, drunk with lust. “Fucking…fuck…awesome-“ he fumbles clumsily, not giving a flying fuck for stating the obvious. Dean pounds into the boy, a relentless merging of cock into ass, digs his fingers into Castiel’s hips and draws him closer, thrusts into him faster; dick iron-hard as he slams repeatedly into the smooth velvet tunnel of Castiel’s tight hole. And he needs to come, _like yesterday._ But it’s just a few more snaps of his hips, a few more pumps of his ass, body jerking, back curved low, grunting and swearing, panting like he’s running a fucking marathon, as he chases his orgasm.

Then it’s right there, he can fucking taste it, body burning up from the drag and pull of his dick slamming into Castiel. He looks down and mutters a curse, caught off guard by the gorgeous sight of the boy's hole stretched wide around his dick and how it greedily swallows him up, how tender and abused it looks. Dean groans and his balls draw tight, his hips falter in their even rhythm, his body locks up taut as a drawstring, and he cums.

He grunts out a breathy “Cas…” while his dick pulses and his ass clenches, spilling into the boy, huffing his name over and over, interlacing it with _fuck_ , and _holy shit,_ plus a series of endearments and promises that slip freely and easily from his lips.

And isn’t that just fucking great? It's a bonafide miracle, actually. Dean Winchester not repressing his emotions or stifling his feelings; it's unheard of. And Dean couldn't be happier, because he's finally done holding back. 


	6. Everlong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel’s pink full lips curl into a full-blown smirk, but his eyes glow with love and affection, an obvious fondness behind them as he regards Dean coolly from his perch in the front row. Well, more like a throne, really, since he is his school’s reigning ruler, after all. But especially now, with Dean as his faithful co-King, Castiel feels every bit like royalty.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the end at last! For us at least. Not so much for Dean and Cas.  
> I want to thank you all for reading and kuddoing (is that a word?) and commenting!! I had a great time writing this, but I enjoyed knowing you all liked it, even more.  
> Chapter title from the ever epic Foo-Fighters!  
> *warning for mention of golden-showers*

**THREE MONTHS LATER:**

"Novak!"

"..."

_Oh for fucksake!_

"Cast—“

"Here, Mr. Winchester" Castiel finally answers; the unmistakable ‘smile’ in his voice adds a charming lilt to his words. “Right in front of you.” he goads, supremely pleased to get a rise out of his boyfriend whenever he misbehaves in class.

"Next time pay attention when I call your name, capiche?" Dean barks back, but there's no bite to his words, only the very interested twitch his dick gives whenever his boyfriend does something naughty in public.

Castiel’s pink full lips curl into a full-blown smirk, but his eyes glow with love and affection, an obvious fondness behind them as he regards Dean coolly from his perch in the front row. Well, more like a throne, really, since he is his school’s reigning ruler, after all. But especially now, with Dean as his faithful co-King, Castiel feels every bit like royalty.

He sends his lover a surreptitious wink, lifts his arms high over his head, and stretches his back, arching gracefully, and moans, almost causing a riot when his shirt rides up and exposes a sliver of tan skin around his waist.

“Mr. Novak?” Dean calls out again, voice deep and husky, just a little bit breathless from the teen’s erotic display.

"Yes, "Mr. Winchester?” Castiel replies, eyebrow cocked, his tone defiant, unmistakably challenging, smile small and smug, a perfect match to the devilish glint in his eyes. “Do you have a question?” he asks innocently, sprawling his long limbs lazily out in front of him and effortlessly tuning out the excited murmurs from the rest of the class.

Dean gulps, _I’m so fucking screwed._

He knows this. Knows it for what it is. By now, so well accustomed to Castiel’s playful teasing (especially since the teen’s never wavered from trying to get a rise out of him since they first met) that Dean easily slips into his character’s role, and rolls with it.

And it's the same today, as it has been every other day: this endless tug-of-war for dominance, their ceaseless push-and-pull of wills.

Although, there was that one fateful day, three months ago to be exact, when Castiel’s behavior, usually so predictable, veered drastically off course and threw Dean for a loop. That day, Castiel descended upon Dean's classroom like a spectra, a ghostly blank slate that quietly set up residence in his usual spot, acting so disturbingly aloof and indifferent towards Dean, that the older man lost his place in their carefully scripted scenes together and fumbled his lines.

Gone was the teenager’s usual brashness, bravado, and burning wit. Dean floundered and lost his concentration. And as a result, his plans to cut the boy out of his life once and for all, were thwarted, smashed to bits; his hope to distance himself from Castiel – and all of the inherent dangers associated with him — rent asunder.

Now, however, Dean finds their repartee terribly amusing, as well as incredibly arousing, and he’s more than happy to play along. Looks forward to it, in fact.

Dean sweeps his eyes hungrily over the boy’s body once more, no longer too concerned with subtlety, then narrows his focus on the teen’s smug expression and smirks right back. He licks his lips and tosses Castiel an all-knowing nod, signaling to the teenager that he knows exactly what the spark of mischief lighting up his blue eyes, implies – it’s the teen’s _'or else?'_ look – and Dean braces himself for what’s to come. _'Cuz, yeah, it's going to be one of those days, again._ But he rolls with it.

He steps away from his desk and squares his broad shoulders, steeling himself for the inevitable showdown with his student. He takes a deep breath and walks right up to Castiel's desk, straightens to his full six foot two height, and growls, "Yes, Mr. Novak, as a matter of fact, I do have a question for you." he moves in closer until he’s looming over the boy’s enticing body. "I want to know if I’ve made myself clear. Or, do we need to take care of this after class? Again?" he warns, peeling back his upper lip in a sexy-as-fuck snarl.

Castiel fucking swoons where he sits, the dangerous menace in Dean’s throaty rumble leaves him weak in the knees and gasping for air. _And oh yeah, It's definitely on now,_ because Dean is playing dirty and he knows perfectly well Castiel will have no choice but to retaliate, after his non-to-subtle display of dominance.

The entire class stills, each and every student holds their breath for fear of disturbing the dramatic scene that’s slowly unfolding before them.

“Perhaps I could do with some _private lessons_ in time management, Mr. Winchester,” Castiel replies evenly, voice dropping to a hoarse and gritty rasp. “A _firm hand_ to show me how to control my wandering…thoughts.” He says softly, but the room tenses further.

Luckily, Dean's well practiced on how to deal with Castiel's provocative retorts, so it's really no surprise that he successfully manages to keep his composure, even after hearing the boy's sexually charged double entendre.

He takes a step away from Castiel’s desk, just a foot or so, straightens his posture, stands with his legs apart and fists planted firmly on his hips, and fires right back.

...

**Later that same day:**

"Mind telling me what the hell that little performance was all about?" Dean murmurs, mouthing the words against the smooth skin of Castiel's cheek, rubbing the course hair of his own stubble against the teen's reddening flesh, knowing that in a very short while, months at the most, the boy will be able to respond in kind. "What was that?" Dean asks again when all he gets from Castiel is an undecipherable jumble of gasps and hisses.

"Wha...pah-fohmace-" Castiel manages to mumble back, this time exhaling his reply into Dean's open mouth, bringing his arms up and wrapping them tightly around the older man's neck when Dean takes _that_ opportunity to latch onto the boy’s bottom lip and tug on it cruelly. "Eeeen!" He keens, so distracted by his lover's tongue and hands that he's honestly unaware of what Dean is asking.

And it’s no wonder that after a full day of Castiel poking and prodding at Dean’s caged tiger, that the duo would end it with a heated ‘discussion’. The verbal sparring that’s par-for-the-course between the pair, especially since recognizing their true feelings for each other, usually culminates in the desperate need to douse the out of control inferno, that ignites whenever they're in the same room.

And so far, it’s been working out splendidly. They both swear by it. Mainly due to Castiel enthusiastically embracing his role as provocative-bossy-over-lord, to Dean’s reluctant righteous-holier-than-thou victim.

But Dean gladly rolls with it, and he'll keep on rolling with it for as long as the ( _fully legal_ ) eighteen year old Castiel, will have him. Dean’s going to enjoy their time together, bask in Castiel’s affection, revel in the teen’s company, delight in the boy’s body, and worship at his alter. All with great enthusiasm.

That’s the plan anyway, but this is Dean, and he worries.

_Of course he does._

Starting with the inevitable tragic ending he foresees befalling their doomed love affair. The reasons behind his trepidation are many and varied, but the chief reason he believes their romance will undoubtedly fail, is that he can’t honestly fathom why this beautiful, loving, selfless, young man would even want to be with him in the first place.

Sure, Dean kinda, sorta, grudgingly, accepts that maybe Castiel might have loving and desirous feelings towards him. _But, seriously, why?_

Bottom line: Dean’s certain Castiel will grow tired of him, eventually realize that he wants more out of life than to be tied down to an over-the-hill school teacher, and leave. Move on without a backwards glance.

But in all fairness, and to Dean's credit, he does struggle daily to steer clear of these gloomy predictions and turn from his sullen moods. And he succeeds. For the most part. But unfortunately, try as he might, panic still flairs up unexpectedly from time to time; the tightening in his chest and the ache in his gut, squeezes all hope and joy from Dean’s heart, leaving him scrambling for air and reaching out for something to ease the pain. But thus far, he’s only found blessed relief in Castiel’s arms, in the promises the teen whispers between his parted lips, and the kisses he presses against his skin.

…

**Summer Break:**

“Dean…” Castiel groans, grinding his ass insistently against Dean’s erection. He reaches around and grabs hold of Dean’s hips and pulls him closer, angles his lower body so that Dean’s dick slips between his crevice and gyrates, a slow sensual roll of his hips that drags Dean’s dick back and forth between his ass-cheeks, slowly, lazily, until Dean’s panting heatedly against the back of his neck.

“Wanna look at you, baby.” Dean whispers into the sweet smelling skin just below the boy’s earlobe, voice husky and gruff from sleep. “Turn around.”

Castiel purrs happily but reluctantly pulls free, turns and repositions himself in their bed until his body faces Dean’s. “Good morning, Dean.” he whispers back, then leans in for his morning kiss.

Dean smiles lovingly against the warm plushness of Castiel’s pucker, toes curling under the sheets because he’s so fucking happy to finally have the teen living with him, to know that from here on out, he will be waking up every day to his beautiful boyfriend.

“Morning, sweetheart.” He says between kisses, nudging Castiel’s thighs apart with his knee so that he can slot their legs together. “Sleep well?” he asks, shifting until his dick’s nestled snugly against the boy’s hip.

Castiel hums, “Mmmm…yesss.”

“Mmm…so fucking awesome waking up to you, Cas…” Dean hums back, pressing further into the boy, rocking slowly into him, fully awake now. He reaches up and knots his fingers in Castiel’s hair, rakes them towards the longer curls at the nape, and cradles the teen’s head, bringing their lips closer and deepening their kisses, a slow, arousing dance of tongues.

“Dean…” Castiel sighs, hips synchronizing with Dean's thrusts, hissing and bucking when Dean’s dick rubs against his own. “F-fuck-“ Castiel grunts, he’s already so close. He digs his fingers into the firm muscle of Dean’s ass and hooks his ankles around Dean’s knees, entwining their bodies, holding on tightly to rut against his lover with more force.

Dean maneuvers until he’s lying on top of the teen, settling his weight into the delicious vee of Castiel’s spread thighs, props himself on one elbow, snakes his free hand between their bodies, and grabs hold of their dicks. Now, with this better angle, and with more leverage, his speed picks up. Dean thrusts into his fist and strokes their joined cocks, thumb gathering the wetness that collects at the tips and uses it to slick them further, to strip their dicks faster. His body shudders, erratic little shivers that race up and down his spine as he works himself and the boy to completion: grinding dirtily, clutching on tightly, hips stuttering, he drops his head to catch Castiel’s lips and whispers into the boy’s mouth, “I love you, Cas-“ and cums.

Castiel doesn’t last much longer, but when Dean’s words fill his mouth, his body thrills with overwhelming pleasure and it punches the orgasm right out of him. He spills, cumming hard and heavy between them, hot, thick fluid mixing with Dean’s own.

Dean collapses on top of the boy and chuckles at Castiel's exaggerated grunt. He tips his head to the side and captures Castiels lips, latching on to their succulence to trade deep and passionate kisses while his fist, pressed flat between their sweaty bodies, slowly milks their cocks until they’re both spent – and not budging from his very comfy spot until the teen wiggles out from underneath him, claiming he needs air.

“Umpht-“ Castiel huffs out loud, swallowing deep gulps of air until his breathing’s under control. He turns so that he’s lying on his side, then swings his leg over Dean’s bare ass. “That was amazing!” he sighs contentedly. “You are amazing!” he exclaims excitedly, smiling large and wide, eyes sparkling as they gaze dreamily upon Dean’s handsome face. “Fucking love you so much, baby!” he swears, dragging his hand up Dean’s back and pausing between his shoulder blades to rub deep soothing circles over the whole area. “Love your hands!” Castiel continues, tone serious. “Love your mouth!” he claims, stretching his neck to nip at Dean’s shoulder. “Madly in love with your…dick!” he whispers and fucking giggles, then nudges Dean to turn until he too, is lying on his side.

Castiel presses his open palm over Dean’s heart, giving a gentle squeeze to the firm pectoral, and stills for a moment until his own heartbeat matches the heavy thumping of Dean’s rhythm, eyes fixed unwaveringly on his lover.

But instead of replying to the teen’s vehement proclamations, Dean drops his eyes, and remains silent. That in itself is enough to alarm Castiel, but when Dean glances back up and all the teen sees in the older man’s expression is a sad resignation, Castiel panics.

“Dean?”

“…”

“Baby?”

“;_;"

“Dean, what is it?!?!” Castiel demands to know, body going rigid, now truly worried.

Dean immediately locks eyes with Castiel, the boy’s forceful tone, edged with just a hint of despair, makes it impossible for him to ignore Castiel’s command. “It…it’s nothing. Geesh, don’t look so friggin scared.” He finally answers, but his casual shrug and tight smile belies the wetness in his eyes.

“Dean!” Castiel repeats, voice dropping lower, stern and authoritative, eyes narrowed and disapproving. He pulls back, but only far enough to give them both enough space to catch their breaths, hand still firmly placed over Dean’s heartbeat. “Please, tell me.” he asks gently, opening his hand and grabbing onto one of Dean’s diamond hard nipples, absently pinching and rolling the hardened nub between his fingers.

The gesture soothes Dean, to a degree. But he drops his eyes again, still unsure if he wants to share with the teen the dark-sickly-brooding things that have burrowed under his skin. But he’s also well aware that if he hopes to have any kind of future with Castiel, then he needs to ‘man up’ and confess his fears as well as his dreams to the boy.

”Well,” he starts to say, although haltingly, still not making eye contact. “It’s just that, um, just now, when you said all those things…about, um, loving me and stuff. Well,” he pauses and swallows, finding the courage to open up when he feels the warm weight of Castiel’s reassuring grip on his hip. “I guess I just figured that you feel that way now, but, maybe, not, you know…later.” He says and winces, because even he can hear how pathetic he sounds.

_Jesus, I thought Sam was the one with the vagina._

Castiel’s eyes soften dramatically from Dean’s apprehension, heart beating a rapid rhythm at his beloved’s distress. “Dean,” he says softly, reaching up to cup his jaw, gently stroking against the grain of Dean’s summer beard, loving the course-softness of it under his thumb. “For your information, I’ve been in love with your mind, and soul,” he whispers, voice dropping even lower, dipping his head into the crook of Dean’s neck to press a tender kiss against the raspy skin. “Way, way, before I fell in love with your body.”

Castiel doesn’t pull away after this bold declaration, simply winds his arms around Dean’s back and pulls him closer, pressing his own body flush against his lover’s.

“Hmpht,” Dean scoffs. “Then I guess that means you’ll be sticking around even after I’m old and grey and my body’s all gnarly and,” he takes a deep gulp, here. “Flaccid?”

Castiel still doesn’t pull away, nuzzles even deeper into Dean’s neck, and hums. “I’ll still be here even after you lose your hair, and your teeth, and I have to feed you, and bathe you, and wipe your a-“

“Alright, alright!” Dean yelps, cutting the teen off sharply, cheeks turning red, mortified but also feeling tons lighter.

And he does feel better. For now at least.

Of course knowing that Castiel will be attending his alma mater, Cal Tech, in the coming fall and that he will continue to call Dean’s small apartment ‘home’ in lieu of living on campus, means more to Dean than he’s willing to let on. Not because he’s unsure of their, _gulp_ , love, but because sharing a home will prove to their families just how serious they take their commitment to each other, and to their future together.

“Well, just don’t go falling in love with any of your professors, ‘kay.” Dean says with a forced smile, trying not to show how fucking insecure he continues to be when it comes to their future, knowing he fucked up royally when he feels the boy’s body tense in his arms.

Castiel slowly untucks himself from Dean’s side, sits up against the bed’s headboard and glowers darkly at the cowering man. “Dean,” he grumbles. “I will not tolerate your disrespect, any longer. Nor will I deign to reply to that insulting remark.”

_Fuck!_

“Fuck, Cas, look…sorry, okay. That was stupid, I know it was…seriously forgive me, okay.” Dean stammers, because he does trust Castiel, of course he does. “Listen, I trust you. Trust you with my life, man. Just not those douche professors so much.” He admits with a pout. Then to sweeten his chances at forgiveness, offers his visibly upset boyfriend his very best puppy-dog eyes. “So…” he prods sheepishly, batting his eyelashes prettily, reaching out to run the tip of his finger down the teen’s exposed arm and stopping at the wrist, wrapping his large hand around the deceptively delicate joint and gingerly pulling Castiel down.

Castiel lets Dean pull him down, lets him put his arms back around his body, but refuses to hold Dean back. “You’re insufferable, you know that?” he grits out angrily. “I just don’t know what to do any more.” He grouses, exhaling a long suffering breath. He shifts until they’re facing each other again, studies Dean for a moment then says, “Listen, I have an idea. My classes start a few weeks before yours, so….why don’t you come with me? You already know the entire staff there. Come show me around; help me settle in, hm?”

Dean’s eyes light up at the teen’s brilliant suggestion. _Of course, why didn’t I think of that?_ “Ah, yeah, sure, if you want me to?” he answers calmly, trying not to sound too eager or desperate.

In all honesty, Dean would love nothing more than to follow his boyfriend to college and shadow his every move. And if he happens to wrap his arm possessively around the boy’s shoulder when he introduces Castiel to his colleagues, or lets slip the fact that the teen is living with him, as a couple, _thankyouverymuch,_ well then, he’s just being a considerate boyfriend.

He’s insuring that all of his degenerate peers know exactly where they stand and exactly with whom they are dealing. It’s not like he’s going to flick his dick out and piss on the boy in front of them, coat Castiel nice and thorough with his scent, unless Castiel wants him to…but nah, Dean’s sure they’ll get the picture just fine from the stormy glower on his face. And if not, then he’ll just have to introduce them to his fists.

“Feel better?” Castiel asks after a long comfortable silence. He pulls back and smirks, brow cocked and assessing. “Although, I can tell from the look on your face that you’re either fantasizing about pummeling them into the ground if they so much as look at me. Or pissing on me again. So which one is it, you kinky bastard?” And without waiting for a reply, Castiel throws his head back and laughs, a delighted throaty chuckle that has Dean pinning him to the mattress, and silencing him with his mouth.

…

**Last Day of Castiel’s Semester:**

_Is it really the last day of classes?_

Castiel is thrilled, ecstatic even, because now, with his classes finally over, he’ll finally be able to spend more time with Dean.

Yes, they see each other every day, share the same bed, and shower together as often as they’re able, but with his enormous work load and multiple exams, Castiel’s had very little, bordering on nonexistent, ‘free’ time for either of them.

However, all of that, although extremely important, always took a back seat whenever either of them had to deal with their families; the most challenging obstacles they continue to tackle daily.

It’s been an extremely difficult road for them, largely due to their families’ overwhelming lack of support for their relationship; both Castiel’s father and Dean’s brother are strongly adverse to their romance and not shy with their harsh opinions on the matter. But Dean and Castiel's insistence that their ‘affair’ didn’t start until _well_ after Castiel graduated from high school, mostly to insure that Dean’s reputation or job didn’t suffer because of their relationship, also caused a great deal of stress for them. But oddly enough, it also brought them closer together, _as if that was even possible, or necessary._

They are thankful, however, for the few people that vehemently support their love. Finding cheerleaders in the form of Charlie, the entire senior class, and Gabriel, offers a great deal of comfort to the harried pair.

And that’s how life’s been for them since 'coming out' officially, as a couple: a massive whirlwind of angst and joy, coated over thickly with crippling insecurity, and swirled tightly with a mad dash of underlying hope.

Challenging, to say the least, especially for Dean. Because no matter how often Castiel tries to convince him of his undying devotion to their love with his mouth, or reassure Dean of his commitment to their relationship with his body, Dean still experiences brief, though debilitating, bouts of insecurity. But at least now he’s learned that it’s just as easy, and infinitely more pleasurable, to lose himself in the real possibility of a permanent future with Castiel, rather than to fret over their status, or lack of support from their loved ones.

And as long as they’re together, they can overcome any hurdle.

That’s Castiel’s mantra, any way, and he adheres to it religiously.

As for Dean, well, he staunchly adheres to his own motto to 'simply roll with it', and he does just that, but he always makes sure to keep Castiel close for the ride.

…

Today, however, is a day for celebration. Because as of now, Castiel can ease back and relax, go back to being a carefree nineteen-year old who only has himself and Dean’s desires to indulge.

He slumps leisurely at his desk, smack dab in the middle of his Physics class small lecture hall, so absorbed in the results of his exams that he completely misses Professor Cain’s irritated grunt when he calls out his name.

“My apologies, Professor, he-“ Castiel starts, stunned silent when he sees that the man currently taking roll-call is most definitely _not_ , Professor Cain.

“Focus, Novak. Pay attention when I call your name. Do I make myself clear?”

_Dean_

Castiel keeps his gaze hot and heavy on his boyfriend – smoldering in fact – his silence drags out for a long moment while the rest of the class waits with bated-breath for their overlord to pass judgment on this interloper. "Crystal…Mr. Winchester." He almost growls and swallows, his throat too dry all of the sudden. “But perhaps I could use your help on improving my…concentration skills. I would be most grateful.” He purrs, and everybody exhales, a uniformed breath that fills the room with relief now that the tense moment has passed.

_Just like old times._

For his part Dean smirks, sends the young man a surreptitious wink, and nods, _because it's on._

And with his head overflowing with all of the wonderful wicked ways he will be doling out Castiel’s punishment later that night, Dean goes back to Professor Cain's attendance sheet, and concludes this class’ last roll-call of the semester.

**Author's Note:**

> The Title is from a great Sade song 'Sweetest Taboo'  
> Chapter title is from a fckng classic Stray Cat's song, 'Sexy and Seventeen' Thanks for reading! Please let me know if you're enjoying it so far. Your thoughts are the sweet, sweet nectar that feeds my beast!!


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